


The Dying of the Light

by round_robin



Series: Time Stops For No Witcher [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Canonical Character Death, Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), Destiny, Double Penetration, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Fluff, Flashbacks, Found Family, Gentle Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Grief/Mourning, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Magic, Mild Peril, Miscommunication, Modern Continent (The Witcher), Modern Era, Multi, Oral Sex, Past Lives, Polyamory, Reincarnation, Repressed Memories, Sub Lambert (The Witcher), Voyeurism, Wolf Pack, mix and match canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 60,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29476548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: They'd been cautious for years, even with the school and training new Witchers, governments blowing up their phone lines to get help for their monster problems, but Jaskier's reincarnation was still the best kept secret of the New School of the Wolf, it had to be, for the protection of them all. If word ever got out that the last living Witchers on the Continent had the only confirmed human reincarnation living in their house, you bet every bastard mage in the world would beat down their front door. Of course they were careful. And now they had two secret reincarnations to keep under wraps...
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Witchers
Series: Time Stops For No Witcher [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811986
Comments: 426
Kudos: 251
Collections: The Modern Witcher AU Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, thank you to everyone who waited for this series to be complete. I know it's been a while since part two went up, but I've been very distracted by one shots and other writing. I've been working on this the whole time though, and finally it's done. Get ready...
> 
> The major character death tag is for past deaths. I know a lot of people (myself included) don't like major character death, but since this is the future of the Continent, there's been a lot of changes, people die naturally with time. That's the same reason I used that tag for the first two parts and it continues with this part: all those major deaths are in the past. I'll try to make detailed chapter notes for when hard scenes might come up. That's part of the reason why it took me so long to finish this one, there's a lot of heavy emotion and that always takes it out of me, the fluffy everything is happy person, but I'm really excited about this story and finally glad to share the thrilling conclusion.
> 
> Tags to be added as I post chapters, and as this is very, very plot heavy, I don't suggest starting with this part, definitely read it through in the right order. Please enjoy <3

Geralt had a picture of Ciri in the Scout, taped to the dash to this day. He reprinted it a few years ago, and Stranden painted him a copy of the original portrait to hang up in the forge. It was nigh impossible to keep a secret in a house full of Witchers, but he pretended to be surprised anyway when the boy gave it to him for Yule. No matter how nice the gesture, or the real painting hanging in Yen's rooms—not the one of Ciri as a little girl, plump, scowling and dressed like a wedding cake, but from when she was older, a strong, beautiful woman with eyes of mischief—the pictures Geralt had were just copies. Copies of copies, further and further away from the real girl, the real woman she became.

And now, _now_ , holding Ciri in his arms again—flesh and blood and bone and so very real—Geralt saw for the first time how those copies paled in comparison. The painting barely captured her eyes, showing them as flat green when they were so many colors all at once: ice and sea foam, with a tint of magic and light all rolled together. The shitty picture taped inside the Scout could never hope to show the luminous glow of her skin, or the red slash of her cheek scar, the mark of a Witcher, earned in battle. For so many years, Geralt didn't know how little he had left of his daughter, and now he had all of her.

But did he really?

Geralt was the first to admit that he didn't understand Ciri's powers, traveling between dimensions, between realms, however it worked. Did that mean she could travel through time as well? As he held her, he rubbed his hands over her shoulders and arms, feeling bird thin limbs, not the strength his Ciri had. If she was another reincarnation like Jaskier, maybe she had a hard life this time around. Not that his Ciri's life was a picnic. And yet, where did the scar come from? How was it the same? Reincarnated or not, Jaskier didn't have the same scars as in his first life. Was Ciri something different? Was she even as real as she felt? So many questions. Too many questions that needed answers when all Geralt wanted to do was hold his fucking daughter and never let her go. May the world burn around them, as long as she stayed in his arms.

The house was so open now, walls removed from the living and kitchen areas to accommodate the growling pack, Jaskier had to go all the way to the library to give Geralt some privacy. They sat in the living room, and Geralt asked not to be disturbed, Jaskier respected that... but fuck if he wasn't worried. Lambert was outside training with Tessa, Vivi, and Alvia (and weren't they just full of questions) and Eskel leaned against the door, one ear turned towards the living room, both eyes on Jaskier.

The boys, well, they were having a time of it too. They stopped asking questions when they realized Jaskier and Eskel weren't going to answer, “We're not ignoring you,” Eskel sighed, trying to keep his voice as level as possible as everything inside him screamed to stay near Geralt. “It's that we don't know. We have no idea what's going on.”

“You always know what's going on,” Dieter said.

Eskel didn't have a response to that either. He tuned out the boys' questions, focusing on Jaskier and Geralt instead, his face falling into a smooth, emotionless mask. Jaskier and Ciri both alive, pretending to be the unfeeling Witcher, so like the old days...

Jaskier stopped pacing and the room came to a stop. Eskel was already frozen at his post, and now the boys froze too, no one moving an inch. Rolling his shoulders, Jaskier dropped his head back and took a deep breath. “When do we call Yennefer?” he asked, low, calm, clearly keeping it together better than Eskel first thought. “Ciri's her daughter too. And she can...” His eyes flicked to the boys, their Wolf Cubs grown, about to set out into the world, all of them standing suddenly closer, hanging on his every word. Well fuck, there went that family secret. “She can confirm reincarnation.”

“Reincarnation,” Clay repeated. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes,” Jaskier said. “And watch your language, save the salty talk for The Path.” The last thing they needed was for the girls to overhear, Lambert was bad enough... What little clarity he managed to find left in a rush and Jaskier hung his head, pressing a palm to his forehead.

Eskel swept to his side, curling an arm around his back in comfort. A few of the boys averted their eyes. They all knew. For years now, their instructors and mentors had been more like fathers to them all, the strange little family they managed to cobble together, it was only natural a bit of affection snuck out every now and again. Of course they didn't mind, seeing the closest people they had to parents happy and in love was nice, but open displays were a little new. The first time most of them remembered seeing Eskel touch Geralt was two Yules ago when they stopped under the mistletoe. They knew about it, but that didn't mean they were used to it.

While Eskel usually put the boys' comfort over his partners' comfort, they were adults now, they could deal with it. “You want me to tell them?” he asked, lips aching to ruffle through Jaskier's hair.

Jaskier nodded, fluttering his hand as he leaned into Eskel's firm chest. “Have at it.”

With Jaskier leaning into him, Eskel set his eyes on Ollie, Clay, Dieter, Zander and Stranden. He searched around for Griffin and found him pouring over the bookshelves, his head half turned to listen. Good enough, he supposed. “This is the only School of the Wolf family secret we've kept from you. It does not leave this house. I'm serious: no discussing it on The Path, in your truck, in your hotel, or in your tent in the middle of the woods. It stays _here_.” He met their eyes individually, letting the weight of his words sink in. “Jaskier's taught you about his ancestor, the first Bard of Kaer Morhen. What he didn't teach you is that he's the _only_ Bard of Kaer Morhen. He's the first Jaskier, reincarnated.”

It went about as well as they expected: silence filled the room as everyone processed. Finally, Zander's brow tightened, glaring at Eskel. “We have family secrets now? Why didn't you tell us? You always said you held nothing back from us. Was that a lie?”

A rumble of ascent rolled through the others. “Why weren't we good enough to know?” Clay asked. “Reincarnation is just magic, right? You've taught us about magic.”

“They didn't tell us because it's not supposed to happen,” Griffin said. They all turned to their brother, now standing next to one of the shelves with a thick book in his hand. “Human reincarnation is unheard of. The last confirmed reincarnation was an elf over a thousand years ago, and she disappeared soon after, casting it in doubt.”

Jaskier looked down at the book in his hands and smiled. Ah, Griffin, the most book savvy of the lot. Of course he read through enough of their library to find the only book with a section on reincarnation. Jaskier spent many a sleepless night reading those pages. _The greatest prophet known to the race of elves was said to be reborn again and again, every two hundred years. She is the connection between the Aen Seidhe and the Aen Elle, those who have departed this world. Yet her last return was never confirmed by the elders. What little we know of her has vanished, her name lost to the mouths of men..._

“Correct,” Jaskier said. “If word got out that the last living Witchers on the Continent had the only confirmed human reincarnation living in their house, you bet every bastard mage in the world would beat down our front door. I won't have more scrutiny on this house than we already have.” He shrugged. “Not to mention I've built a writing career on my past memories under the guise of old, family heirlooms. I don't know what my agent would hate more, that I lied about my sources or that I'm not writing her the only reincarnation autobiography in existence.”

“I just...” All the fight drained from Zander and Ollie placed a comforting arm over his shoulders. “It's about keeping you safe, right? You didn't trust us to do that?”

Jaskier's brow softened, his worry for Geralt pausing for the moment. “Oh, no dearest, that wasn't it at all.” Pulling out of Eskel's arms, he took Zander's hand, rubbing his thumb along the back. The other boys gathered in close; their protective instincts were calibrated off Jaskier's stress level, much like their mentors. “We didn't want to put that burden on you, not when the burden of protecting the ungrateful masses of the Continent was already waiting on the other side of our walls.” He sighed, turning and looking past Eskel, through the door and towards the living room, where Ciri dozed quietly against Geralt's chest. “And now we have to keep Ciri safe as well. Just like old times.”

They lapsed into strained silence once again, Ollie and Dieter pacing circles around each other, the rest fidgeting and twitching on various library chairs, unsure where to sit or stand. Eskel slumped against the door frame, his ears focused on Geralt once again. Jaskier drifted between them all; stroking Eskel's shoulders in comfort one moment, urging the boys to go get lunch the next. No one really reacted to Jaskier's fussing beyond a small smile or a returned nudge, so he went back to Eskel, his eyes flicking between the young men who were now Witchers... Jaskier spent his life—both of them—taking care of Witchers, the instinct was hard to ignore.

Suddenly, Eskel's head snapped up. “He wants us to call Yennefer. The old xenovox, I'll get it.” Face still smooth and blank, Eskel headed through the house, out the back door, towards the barn. All the miscellaneous magical objects they picked up over the years were either in the barn, or in the vaults below the house, it depended on whether they wanted to preserve the object. While Eskel and Jaskier usually leaned towards yes, preserve what they could, the xenovox, a device for calling Yennefer directly was... an object of some debate.

Jaskier took a breath and leaned his head back, asking the ceiling gods for strength. “Yennefer's coming.” And so it began.

With a house full of humans, Yennefer was good about placing her yearly portal for Geralt just outside Corvo Bianco's gates, trying to create as little disturbance as possible, so the sight of a swirling vortex of power materializing in the middle of the hall, gave them all quite the shock. Griffin and Zander jumped in front of Jaskier, Clay and Ollie gathering in front of Eskel, while Stranden and Dieter simply growled. Yennefer paid them no mind, head turning with a flutter of silky waves as she tuned into Geralt's exact location and followed the pull inside of her. Geralt confirmed some years ago, the binding of the djinn was still there but Jaskier suspected it was more down to the bond of Ciri. There was no cutting ties with the person who shared your child, and now that child was back...

Eskel locked eyes with each in turn, warning without words. “Stay here, I'll be back.” Following in Yennefer's wake, Jaskier tried not to overhear. “We made up the guest room.” So she was staying. He remembered when she confirmed his reincarnation—fuck, fifteen years ago now—Yennefer whisking off to a private room with a lock of his hair. She wouldn't want to keep this from Geralt, he wouldn't let her.

“Yennefer...” A quiet growl pulled Jaskier out of his musings. Dieter glared at the spot where the portal appeared, now a bookshelf, as it had always been, lips curled back, a soft growl building in his chest. “She did that to you, Jaskier. Not...” He squeezed his eyes shut and growled louder, balling his hands into fists. “She and Geralt, they fucked _you_ over, not some ancestor. Fucking hell, Jaskier—”

“Oh, will you stop it,” Jaskier sighed. Over a hundred collective years living with wolves, he could growl with the best of them, but found himself too tired, the urge to put down an unruly Wolf Cub drained out of him before it even started to build. “Yes, it was me. He left _me_ to see Yennefer half a dozen times, he left _me_ on top of a fucking mountain. And then there were the times he left her to find me. That's done now, I'm over it, been over it for seven hundred years, so just drop it.” Dieter ducked his head, but his eyes still blazed and Jaskier sighed. “Well, if you didn't feel like proper Witchers before, I can now confirm your status: only Witchers worry about my feelings instead of worrying for their own skin.”

Eskel stopped in the hall, sticking his head through the door. “They're upstairs, Yennefer has some magic to do, things to confirm. Everyone needs food.”

Yes, they had a big lunch planned, Eskel spent all of last night and most of this morning preparing two deer the boys brought down, roasting the venison using one of Vesemir's old recipes, a traditional winter meal to celebrate their arrival for the season, now the meal used to launch new Witchers out into the world. And it was getting cold in the fucking kitchen.

“Lunch,” Jaskier said, using his Professor Jaskier tone, the one that brooked no argument.

They all walked out into the hall, casting dark looks up the stairs before Jaskier pushed them along. Eskel went outside to grab Lambert and the girls and they all sat down to eat. What was meant to be a celebration of ten years of hard work felt a little lacking, Geralt's steady presence at Eskel's side a gaping hole at the table. Jaskier tried to put it out of his mind, but after so long with that glorious head of silver-white always in his peripheral vision, it was difficult.

Ciri was here, and that was a wonder, he was so happy for Geralt. But, if Yennefer needed to take her away, _wanted_ to take her, Geralt would follow, there was no doubt in Jaskier's mind. He met Eskel's eyes, then Lambert and they shared the same thought.

They'd cross that bridge when it came.

* * *

Geralt had spent centuries learning Yennefer's face. Sometimes deliberately—curled next to her during one of the few moments she wanted him around, studying the smooth contours of her relaxed face—and sometimes when he didn't mean to, like when she sat hard at work, ignoring him, making a potion or other stupid thing he needed for a contract then they could both be out of each other's hair once again. He knew every twitch, every micro-expression that flitted across her eternally beautiful visage. Not once had he ever seen her face truly blank, totally devoid of the emotion that fueled her.

Not until she set eyes on Ciri.

No words passed between them, they barely needed to speak after all these years. With his arm around her shoulders, Geralt led Ciri up the stairs, Yennefer traveling in their wake. In the back bedroom, usually reserved for guest lecturers, Geralt sat them on the bed while Yen arranged her ingredients on the desk. If she didn't have scissors, he might have to go down and get some, or ask Eskel. There might be a pair in the library. Geralt didn't know what went into the spell, he hadn't watched when Yennefer performed it on Jaskier all those years ago, but whatever she needed, she'd have it.

Yennefer set her small bag down on the desk and rested her fingers on the wood, staring down at the grain. Geralt sat, his arm still around Ciri, who was exhausted from her trip. She'd had food, eating a sandwich Eskel made her while Geralt buried his nose in her hair, inhaling that long lost campfire smell. Ciri's skin was always bathed in fire, but more like the softly roaring embers of a fire in the woods, snow flitting around her...

Yennefer didn't move for a very long moment. Finally, she lifted her head and turned to stare at Ciri, her face still disturbingly blank. “What is your name?”

Ciri swallowed thickly. After the first relieved greetings, she lapsed into silence, comforted by Geralt's presence. She'd traveled so far to get here, a lot of that on foot. Taking rides was too dangerous, or so long dormant memories now filling her head told her. But she had to find Geralt, any way she could. And now she was here. “Ciri. Yennefer—”

She held up a hand, stopping the stream of words. She wasn't interested in lies at the moment, even if they came from a familiar looking source. “What is your name?”

“Yen, it is Ciri. I promise. She smells—”

“I can't count on smells, Geralt,” Yennefer said, her voice cutting, but not angry. She still hadn't displayed any emotion outside of cold professionalism, the same way she acted when the council at Aretuza wanted her advice on some trivial magic matter and she deigned to give it to them. “I want to know what she _thinks_ she knows. What is your name?”

Sitting up straight, Ciri rolled her shoulders, letting Geralt's arm fall away. He twitched to lean in closer but stayed where he was, letting her stand on her own as she always had. “My name is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, daughter of Pavetta and Emhyr, destined daughter of Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg, granddaughter of Queen Calanthe Fiona Riannon. I am the Lion Cub of Cintra, the Swallow. I will give you any name I have, Yennefer, whatever you need.”

The first crack in Yennefer's stone face appeared, just a small twitch at her eyebrow. “I need a lock of hair.” She pulled a pair of wickedly sharp silver scissors out of her bag and thrust them at Ciri. “Geralt, I need to speak to you outside.” She turned and walked out, leaving the door open, clearly calling Geralt _now_.

Geralt took a moment to hug Ciri again. “It's alright,” he whispered into her hair. “Reincarnation is rare. It's hard to trust it when we've already seen it once.”

Ciri's brow tightened. “Who else? Not Lambert or Eskel, they look exactly the same.” Her lips curved up into a smile. “As do you.”

“Later.” It took almost everything Geralt had to get up. Pressing a quick kiss to her hair, he breathed in that smoky fire once again. “I'll be right back.”

Out in the hall, he closed the door to give Ciri some privacy. The pups were all downstairs, grumbling under their breaths about “Fucking sorceresses,” which they definitely learned from Lambert, and Geralt knew no one would disturb them, but he needed to keep Ciri locked away for the moment, like she'd been locked in his heart for so very long.

He followed Yen's smell to the music room. She stood by the keyboard—Jaskier wouldn't let them move the piano upstairs, “It's more trouble than it's worth, Geralt,” and asked for a keyboard to give lessons instead—staring at the small shelf of books in the corner. Jaskier didn't like his books included in their library, he thought it very pretentious, so Eskel stored them in the music room. They had multiple copies of each book, but they only kept one up here, the whole set lined up together, beautiful leather covers shining dully in the lamps.

“Yen, what is it?” Whether Yennefer decided to wear her feelings in the open or not, Geralt knew when she was in a torrent. He'd been in the middle of a few in their lifetimes, he'd calmed her out of them as well. “I understand you don't trust scents like I do. We'll do the spell, then confirm it.”

“Confirm what?” She turned, anger pouring off her as she fluttered a hand oh so casually at Jaskier's bookshelf. “That she's read your bard's books? That she memorized the information he spilled into the world in order to get herself into this keep? It's been almost a millennia, Geralt, I thought you'd grow out of that gullible stage by now.”

Geralt waited. Between Jaskier—the soft, emotional, human—Lambert's occasional bouts of temper, and even Eskel's flares when he had to beat his head against the wall of government for too long, he was used to waiting out emotional explosions. Add in the last decade filled with damaged and now hormonal boys, he was very good at it. He watched Yen's emotions start to break across her, fingers shaking and balling in anger, nails digging into her own skin as she bit the inside of her cheek and he smelled blood. She didn't shout or rage, but the tension simmered across her skin like the rolling fire she unleashed on Sodden. Yennefer was never the same after that day, her Chaos raged closer to the surface before she hid it again, this time, under layers of protective fury instead of blind rage. The protective fury usually reserved for protecting their daughter.

When her shoulders slumped a little and she pressed a hand to her forehead, some of the fight draining from her, Geralt finally spoke. “I didn't call you here to torture you.”

“Didn't you?” Voice thick with tears, he smelled them rolling down her cheeks. She kept her head bowed, not willing to show her weakness after all these years. “It's impossible. One human reincarnation, but two? Gifted to the same family?”

“Ciri isn't fully human.”

“ _Wasn't_ ,” Yen spat.

Geralt pressed on. “Her Elder Blood, you said yourself, all the stories of true reincarnation come from Aen Seidhe.”

“ _One_ Aen Seidhe,” Yennefer snapped, teeth clicking around the word. Her voice was a hiss of anger, but tears still rolled from her eyes, centuries of unexpressed pain pouring out all at once. “I did some research after your bard turned up: one elf. Over and over. She had a cycle of reincarnation that has never been seen in any one else, and even she hasn't been found for almost fourteen hundred years. I'd say that makes Ciri's case even more impossible.”

“Jaskier's the one who spotted her.” It was his last card. If Yennefer refused to confirm the reincarnation... well, they could always go to Eskel's friend, but Geralt liked to keep the number in the know small. Yen was right about one thing: two reincarnations were a sight more remarkable that just one, making them a target of interest all over again.

A short inhale of breath and Yen slowly turned to Geralt, no longer hiding her tears. “What?”

“Jaskier. He likes to sit on the roof.” Jaskier live with him at Corvo Bianco in the autumn and winter of his first life, basically moving in as soon as his knees stated to creak too much from walking. The day they knew all his original memories had returned was the day they woke to find him missing from the bed, sitting on the roof instead, strumming his lute and singing _Toss a Coin_ at the top of his lungs. They sent Lambert after him, Geralt and Eskel too tired to chase a twenty-one-year-old across the roof. “He's the one who saw her at the bottom of the hill. The only human reincarnation in history is the first to lay eyes on the second? I've learned to listen to Destiny, and that sounds like something we should pay attention to.”

Yennefer's bottom lip quivered one last time before she regained control over herself. She straightened up, drawing her shoulders back and wiping the tear tracks form her face, careful not to smudge her make up any further. “Yes, well, we shall see if your suspicions are correct.”

She moved passed him back into the hall, her shoulder brushing against his. Yes, all her bluster was to cover her brief moment of emotion, they'd known each other long enough that they didn't need to explain. And Yen, after all, was Yen, Geralt didn't think she would explain even if he asked her to.

In the guest bedroom, they found Ciri pacing around. She was skinny and tired, but still she paced. “Yennefer, I can explain—”

Yennefer raised a hand. “You don't need to. The years have... well, let's just get this done. Lock of hair. Please.”

Ciri handed her a fluffy curl and she took it, their fingers brushing. “Let's sit. You should rest.” Geralt pulled her back onto the bed. He wanted her to sleep, who knows how long she'd been walking (Ciri didn't say, but he knew the signs: road dirt covering every inch of her, sweat in a light sheen across her skin, cheeks a little too red from the sun). She leaned into him and they both watched Yennefer work.

The small desk in the guest lecturer's room wasn't nearly big enough of a work space, but Yennefer made do with what she had. She kept her eyes on her ingredients, pushing back the intrusive thoughts whispering in the back of her mind. Whispers of _what if it's Ciri, you'll finally have her back..._ were no more helpful than the thoughts that screamed _it's a trick, a spell, you'll see through it soon enough_. She had to be neutral, couldn't think about the bright eyes staring at her, the face that looked so very exact. Geralt had a copy of her portrait, but after almost seven hundred years staring at the actual painting, Yennefer knew the planes of Ciri's face better than anyone, and that face was currently sitting a few feet away from her.

The spell wasn't complicated. No chanting, no grand smoky affair. It was an old Aen Seidhe spell, used to confirm the reincarnation of their prophet, the Light of Many Worlds according to one old, battered journal she found. As far as she knew, Yennefer was the only human to use it. No human ever had a need. She had to look it up last time in some dusty book she hadn't opened in literal centuries, the exact copy of Jaskier sitting in her living room, waiting. Well, now it was Ciri, waiting for her...

A few simple ingredients mixed together was all it took. Yew needles and berries, a few drops of fifth essence, and mandrake. Stir it all together and add the hair. Yennefer's fingers absolutely did not shake as she placed the curl in the mixture, watched it sink into the liquid. She held her breath.

It started at the very tips, both ends had a sudden glow. Ash blonde, almost white like Geralt, slowly started to change until a lock of brilliant, shining gold lay in front of her. Yennefer bit down on all the curses she knew. With Jaskier, his lump of brown hair had turned silver—reincarnation, same soul, as exact a body as his family's line could produce—but Ciri, she was somehow _more_. The same soul, the same body, the same molecules tied to the universe in the same way. There was Destiny around her, binding her to Geralt, bringing her here. It made sense, Geralt found Jaskier, but Ciri was the one to seek them out, the pull of her destiny too strong.

There was more to it, Yennefer had books to read, sources to dig up (some literally) but that could wait until morning. Hell, it could wait until next week. Ciri was alive, she was here, and she was waiting for Yennefer's reaction.

“It's her,” she whispered, still looking down at her spell, the faintly glowing bowl that meant so very much to her. She looked up, tears shining in her eyes again. Geralt, always so rare with his smiles in the old days, smirked softly at her, his arm around Ciri, _their_ Ciri.

He lifted one of those stupidly big arms and Yennefer fell into it, hugging her daughter close for the first time in so long.

* * *

The calm didn't last, of course it didn't. Once Yennefer collected herself, she started making demands. “Jaskier, I'm taking that guest room. I don't know how long I'm staying. Ciri will need a room as well, the one next door to mine.”

Jaskier peered over his shoulder at Eskel. He was the headmaster, it was his call whether to let _guest lecturers_ stay, but today had been too emotional for the usually stoic Witchers and it fell to Jaskier to handle the sticky bits. With a nod from Eskel, he smiled. “Of course. I'll have towels and soap ready for you both. You can use the bathhouse in the back if you like, no students allowed.”

Said students were gathered around the dining table, glaring at Yennefer in distrust and Ciri with open affection. They were taking it in turns, three glaring, three smiling, then switch. Lambert had difficulty wrangling the girls after all the excitement (the fact that three girls no higher than his hip finally managed to out-stubborn Lambert was too funny, Jaskier would tease him about it later) and they were currently outside on the obstacle course, getting out most of their energy. With any luck, they'd be exhausted after dinner.

Eskel had planned a feast for the boys' send off—a late lunch that swelled into dinner—and it wasn't difficult to add two more. Ciri ate ravenously, answering Geralt's questions. “How far did you walk? You've been on the road how long?”

“Since my grandmother died. Not Calanthe,” Ciri said between bites. Eskel heaped more potatoes onto her plate. “I've been having dreams for months, I thought they were visions—visions run in my family—but I knew there was something more. After my grandmother's funeral, I just started walking. I knew I had to get to you.” She paused and set her fork down, leaning away from the table. The whole room went quiet, even the three little girls squealing and growling over their brother Wolves leaving in the morning.

Ciri closed her eyes, remembering the vision that was so real to her. “I was in a wood, and I saw you. Find Geralt of Rivia. It was like the only thought I'd ever had—find Geralt of Rivia.” She opened her eyes, brilliant gaze setting on Geralt, then Yennefer, before sliding around the table and taking in every face. “And then I found you.”

Geralt had spent the entire meal with one hand slung across the back of Ciri's chair. He leaned in and pressed his forehead into her hair. “And then you found us.”

Everyone laughed and talked and ate. The boys' morning departure was going to be difficult, but with Ciri and all the possibilities and questions she brought, they couldn't linger on that sadness too long. Jaskier figured that was for the best. He sat back, and let the Witchers bond with their long lost Swallow. She had questions about her memories, and they'd talk, as the only other human reincarnation in history, he had a lot to teach her. Just like the old days, the best parts of the old days, not the death and pain—though that would surely come soon enough—Jaskier reveled in the sight of the happy family around him. _His_ happy family.

He dipped his fingers down the collar of his shirt and stroked over the wolf medallion that had been his for over ten years now. His family, his school, his pack, were finally complete.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though life seemed to settle, Yennefer still worked at the mystery of Ciri's reincarnation. As the only other human reincarnation in existence, Yen was forced to talk to Jaskier about it. Well, forced was too harsh, she'd mellowed over the years, and Jaskier had waded through his past memories enough to make peace with what happened between her and Geralt. He might work with her, teach Ciri by her side, but it was Jaskier's bed he crawled into at night, and that's all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: there is some mild peril in this chapter. I'm a marshmallow and I never actually put characters in any real, serious danger, but they are Witchers, things happen. More notes at the bottom if you're unsure and want to be careful with yourself before reading a scene <3
> 
> Also, I had a lot of Jaskier feelings in this chapter. He's been raising children after all, and I had thoughts...

As they suspected, Yennefer moved in... after a fashion. Half the time, she came down to breakfast with all of them, doting over Ciri and making sure she ate and got strong again, but then there were some days where they all woke to find a portal in the garden and no sign of Yen. Just one more interesting facet of a life with Witchers.

Ciri began training with the girls to build up her strength. Geralt was quietly concerned about her. “She had a lot of baby fat as a kid, but as soon as her muscles started coming in, she filled out. She's never been this skinny,” he told Yen. The others tried not to listen in, Ciri was their family, but she was Geralt's daughter first and foremost, they would follow his lead.

The girls loved Ciri, of course. As their older brothers left, heading out for The Path, they clung to her as she trained side by side with them, building her muscles and stamina as they built theirs. Three little girls turned out to be more of a terror than six boys and Ciri encouraged them, laughing at Lambert's scowling face when they turned the “punishment” of running the obstacle course into a game.

“When did I turn into the hard ass everyone likes to piss off?” Lambert grumbled to himself. “That's supposed to be Eskel. Eskel! Headmaster Eskel! I'd like a fucking word with you please!”

Though life seemed to settle, Yennefer still worked at the mystery of Ciri's reincarnation. “She's different than you, Jaskier.” As the only other human reincarnation in existence, Yen was forced to talk to him. Well, forced was too harsh, she'd mellowed over the years, and Jaskier had waded through his past memories enough to make peace with what happened between her and Geralt. He might work with her, teach Ciri by her side, but it was Jaskier's bed he crawled into at night, and that's all that mattered.

“Different how?” he asked. The girls were in the library with Eskel, they were still years away from learning potions, but the students were never too young to learn which plants might kill them.

“The spell I used to confirm the reincarnation,” Yen held her hands in front of her, like she was holding the spell. Such a simple piece of magic, only a few ingredients contained in a plain vessel, but it brought up so many questions. “There isn't much information about it. If the lock of hair stays inert, there is no reincarnation, if it changes color, that confirms it. Your hair turned silver. From what little I managed to find, that means the same soul has returned, your body as close of a match as your genetics can produce.” Her eyes swept over him. “What differences have you found in yourself over the past few years?”

Lambert grunted from the kitchen, but didn't interject. Jaskier made a mental note to soothe him later, Yennefer's presence was accepted, but so many changes in their house in just a few short months made it a little awkward. First the boys left for The Path, then Ciri and Yen moved it. It was a change to be sure.

Jaskier closed his eyes and tried to think. “Scars are different, obviously, I haven't been stabbed in this life time. A few moles are missing. I used to have a rather sweet one on my hip.”

“Mmm, yeah,” Lambert sighed. “I miss that one.” He drifted over with a plate of snacks and a stiff drink. With Geralt dealing with Ciri's mysterious appearance, most of the work with the girls fell to Lambert. They were running him more than a little ragged. He placed an arm across the back of Jaskier's chair and leaned in, rubbing his nose through the soft hair at his temple.

Yen didn't react, focused totally on Jaskier and their conversation. “That still confirms my theory. Same soul, different body. When I cast the spell for Ciri, her hair turned gold. As far as I can tell from what scant information I have, that means more is at work here, not just the same soul, possibly the same body as well.” She leaned her head back and looked at the ceiling, knowing Ciri slept so close by, she still needed to rest after training, the stamina would come soon enough. “I don't know what it means and it frustrates me to no end.”

Mindful of Lambert leaning into him, Jaskier reached out and took Yennefer's hand in his, squeezing softly before drawing back. Even after so long, Yennefer only allowed so much touch. “I understand, it's confusing at the beginning. When my memories started returning, we didn't know if they'd all come back, if they'd completely replace my current life... so many things we couldn't be sure of until it happened. Ciri is different, obviously, her Elder Blood complicates things. My advice is to simply appreciate what you have and deal with the new information as it comes in.”

Geralt came in from the kitchen and sat down, leaning towards Jaskier a little. “When did you get so smart?” Geralt asked, rubbing his nose along Jaskier's jaw.

He shrugged. “I've always been this smart, dearest, you're the idiots who spent a hundred years ignoring me.”

Even Yennefer laughed and didn't throw another barb. Jaskier couldn't quite put his finger on it, but now that he was part of raising children, Yennefer seemed to trust him more with hers. Leave alone the fact that he helped raise Ciri quite well the first time. Eh, it had been too long, old scores were dead and buried, they didn't need to bring them up again.

Part of the reason the girls loved Ciri was they were stronger than her. The boys were always faster, stronger, better with Signs and things Tessa, Vivi, and Alvia were too young to learn, but Ciri trained along side them, and given her undeveloped muscles, she wasn't as fast as them. They delighted at beating her in a race, or on the obstacle course outside the walls. The first time Ciri caught up and finally beat them was a sad day indeed, but their little competitive spirits soon rebounded, training harder.

But Geralt preened. She was getting strong again. Yennefer explained her theory that Ciri might even be reincarnated into the same body, and Geralt frowned. “She never looked like this. Too stringy, muscle just starting to come in. If she has the same body, where's the muscle?”

“She wasn't raised by Witchers this time around,” Jaskier countered. “She had a loving home, free of worry, or the fucking Wild Hunt on her tail. She didn't need to be strong.”

Ciri hadn't revealed much about her second life, and Geralt was too kind to push. She spoke to Jaskier about it, though. When they sat in the library, reading with the girls tucked on the couch between them, Tessa and Alvia sharing the same dusty tome while Vivi read one of Jaskier's histories. “My parents died when I was a baby. Not just my mother, my father too... car accident.”

Jaskier slowly closed the book he was reading and gave her his full attention. “Go on,” he whispered.

Ciri closed her eyes, her lips pressed into a tight line. Jaskier of all people recognized that face, wading through the new memories and the old, all jumbled up together. “My grandmother raised me... both times. She died a few months ago. Carrie, that was her name this time. I was at the funeral when the memory of Geralt hit. I saw him running through the woods and his name appeared to me, clear as day. I knew I had to find him again.” She opened her eyes, tears clinging to her lashes, but they did not spill. “I don't know how I found him this time—found you all. It's like there's a pull inside of me, and I can't...” She hung her head. “I can't explain it. And I don't understand it. I was just getting used to the visions, and then...”

The three little girls between them were silent. With the boys, silence meant they were asleep, but while Alvia, Tessa, and Vivi were rowdier than the boys had ever been in training, they also knew when to pretend to read, and listen in on the conversation happening around them. They were going to be cunning little Witchers in a decade's time, Jaskier actually feared for the monsters of the world. But even with the couch full, Jaskier still managed to reach out and touch Ciri's shoulder, his firm hand grounding her. “It was confusing for me, at first. Still is some days.”

The _why_ of Jaskier's reincarnation had never been explained. No bolt from the blue, no mystical text laying it all out, nothing short of Geralt's quiet whispers of, “You're a gift. After all we've lost, all the people we'll never see again, we were too world weary until it sent you back to us.”

Well, if Jaskier was a gift to keep them tied to the world, interested in its ebbs and flows, then what did that make Ciri? Was Destiny finally being kind when all she'd done was challenge them for the past eight hundred or so years? Jaskier didn't have all the answers, he just gave Ciri what little peace of mind he could. “I don't know why I'm back, but I intend to make the best of it.”

Ciri smiled, covering Jaskier's hand with hers and giving it a squeeze. “Then I'll do the same.”

Jaskier, of course, had his own private thoughts about why he and Ciri were back, he didn't have any evidence, magical or otherwise, just a feeling. Witchers helped maintain the balance between Chaos and destruction. The world needed some Chaos to function, tip too much in either direction, the delicate balance crumbled, so how did Destiny placate three world weary Witchers at the end of their ropes? Return their family to them. He didn't have any hard evidence, he knew next to nothing about magic, and it wasn't like Destiny came down and whispered the answer in his ear, but it seemed to make sense. Jaskier didn't let it bother him much, not when his home was once again filled with family and his wolves were happy.

* * *

The girls shared a room, Ciri took one of the other dorm rooms, and Yen in the guest lecturer's room (some times). There was more than enough space for the boys when they returned for winter—Eskel was a traditionalist about that, “Winter is a time of rest, they'll come home and spend the season, rest for the next,” he decreed before they left—Geralt hadn't had any new renovations in years and started to convert the barn. Eskel's office was still at the front, he still had space for file storage and a small area for meditation, but the entire back half and the hayloft were just empty space...

“Besides, in a few decades we'll run out of space in the house, with each new class that comes in. Best to take care of it now,” he decided.

Eskel rolled his eyes but signed off on the plans. Geralt and Lambert trained with the girls in the morning, then renovated in the afternoon while poor Jaskier tried to get them to sit still long enough to learn about the beasts they were going to kill eventually. “Just like you,” he mumbled to Ciri. “All about the physical tactics, no patience for the book learning.”

Tessa, Alvia, and Vivi were set to start sword training in the spring, and Lambert promised them, “If you're very, _very_ good, I'll have the boys stay an extra two weeks and teach you tricks.” He held up a warning finger. “And I mean _very_ good. Now go, laps around the yard!”

After living in Toussaint for so long, Jaskier could smell the gentle shift to winter on the air. The wind still chilled him a little, but the cold brought a smile to his face now. His pups were coming home soon. Geralt and Eskel had seen a few classes of initiates go through the original Kaer Morhen, and Lambert remembered his class, but this was the first time Jaskier would have the experience, and unlike his Witchers, _all_ his boys would make it home. They checked in constantly, making good use of the resources Eskel gave them.

Ollie, Griffin and Zander even found themselves near Corvo Bianco a few months before and wanted to stop by for dinner, but Eskel put his foot down. “A full year on The Path, learn the hardship of it, you'll appreciate home all the more.” So Jaskier relished the sometimes late night phone calls, updating him on their progress, the phone passed to each wolf, checking to make sure the boys were hunting properly. They left Jaskier to ask after their well being, but they knew their mentors cared.

Sometimes, they got caught up in their contracts and didn't call for days. Jaskier worried, of course, but Geralt or Eskel or Lambert would always press close and whisper, “They're fine, they're strong.”

“Mmm, yes, I know,” he'd reply. Jaskier stroked his wolf medallion and thought of them, hoping their shared connection through their school—the New School of the Wolf—would keep them safe.

When they made the trip to Kaer Morhen to see the ruins, Geralt and Lambert took an extra day to visit the Circle of Elements and activate the amulets. With Yennefer around, the magic detecting properties were essentially useless, but Jaskier still liked knowing he could feel anything amiss. It brought him one step closer to his Witchers, the ones who shared his bed and the ones he considered his pups—his children.

Some nights, sleep did not come, and Jaskier walked the house, relieving whoever was on night duty. The girls didn't try to sneak away like the boys did, at most they raided the armory to try and get their hands on a sword before it was time.

Jaskier woke from a restless sleep and staggered to his feet, pulling on pajamas and a robe before heading out into the darkened house. The turns of the halls and placement of support columns were familiar by now and Jaskier easily made his way towards the living room where Lambert sat on guard, his head bowed in a light meditation. He opened his eyes as soon as he heard Jaskier and extended a hand towards him. “Can't sleep?”

Jaskier shook his head and squeezed the offered hand, but didn't let Lambert tug him down onto the couch. He paced back and forth, fingers worrying at his medallion. After almost a year of Yennefer popping in and out, he could tell the difference between her residual magic and something new, and nothing _seemed_ out of place. But there was a feeling about tonight... he couldn't stop touching the warmed silver. “I have a bad feeling.”

“About what?” Lambert tried one more time to pull him down onto the couch. When Jaskier shook his head again, he stood up and let the former bard lean against him.

Jaskier pressed his forehead into Lambert's shoulder and breathed in the familiar, citrusy musk. “I don't know. I don't like it.” He woke from what he thought was a nightmare, but he couldn't remember it. A flash of lightning and then... nothing. The medallion was warm in his hand, the rounded edges pressing into his palm. “I think—when did the pups last check in?”

The shrill ring of a cell phone cut off the rest of their conversation.

* * *

Clay's feet hit the ground and he managed to barely catch himself before his head collided as well. The world around him was dark, but specks of light were starting to make it through the haze, the black soon faded to red and he shook himself, trying to shake the spell away. “Fucking fiend... Strand! Dieter!” Which one of them pulled him away? They barely entered the mouth of the cave when they heard the fiend's roar. Clay tried to close his eyes, but the fucking thing already had it's third eye open. There was a stab of pain in his side, then the world went dark.

The fiend's hypnotizing spell finally wore off and Clay rubbed his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the fading daylight again. He opened his eyes and looked around for Stranden and Dieter... “Where, where's the fucking cave?” He turned in a circle. Clay had started his afternoon outside a cave, standing between his brothers as they checked their supplies. His swords were still on his back, along with his travel pack, he didn't have a chance to take it off before the fiend decided to stick its ugly head out.

And now he was standing in the middle of a fucking field. No Stranden, no Dieter, no truck. “What...”

“Witchers can control their heartbeats, but so can humans. Breathe, calm your mind, approach the situation slowly...” Eskel's words from their meditation lessons pounded in his ears along with his pulse. Where the fuck was he? His hand flew to his chest, the lingering ring of magic just seeping out of his medallion. Did the fiend teleport him? Could they do that? Why did no one teach them that? After a fucking decade of Geralt's monster lectures, not once did they say anything about fiends with teleportation powers!

“Breathe Clay, breathe...” he whispered to himself. He inhaled deep and felt a stab of pain low on his side, _manageable_ , keep breathing... Once his heart slowed to an acceptable level, he looked around again. No farms, no houses, just a road at the bottom of the hill. “Better start walking.”

When he reached the bottom of the hill, Clay dug in his bag for his phone. The military grade case made sure it would survive a decent beast attack, he wasn't so sure about portals. He flicked on the screen and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw he had signal. Barely. He had to hope it was enough. He called Stranden first and waited until it rang... and rang... and rang...

If they were still fighting the fiend, they wouldn't be able to pick up. Clay took another breath to calm his heart as it started to race again, the pain in his side stabbing a little. “Nice day, not too hot, not too cold, have a sit.” So he sat. And he waited.

He tried Stranden's phone again, then Dieter's. He thought about calling back to Corvo Bianco, but since he had no fucking clue where he was, that call would only panic Jaskier, which was best avoided. He remembered when he and Dieter were younger, they climbed up onto the roof to move a chair to Jaskier's favorite spot. Their gangly, growing limbs weren't as graceful or sure as Jaskier's skilled hands, despite all their climbing on the obstacle course, especially with an overstuffed chair from the music room balanced between them. Dieter was bigger, so he supported the bottom of the chair. His foot slipped and thankfully, their screams summoned Geralt, Lambert _and_ Jaskier. The Witchers were calm and collected, the human... not so much. They made it to the ground safely, the chair did not. Seeing Jaskier go pale with fear was almost worse than the punishment Eskel dolled out, so no, Clay wasn't going to call home, not until he knew where he was.

After about twenty minutes—in which he tried meditating, and checked over his supplies just in case—his phone rang. Dieter's name shined up at him. “Dieter, where the fuck are you guys?”

“Where the fuck are you? You just disappeared, man. The fiend walked out of the cave and poof! You were gone!” Dieter's panicked voice screeched through the tinny speaker.

“I don't know! I think it teleported me.”

“Fiends can fucking do that? Ugh, doesn't matter, where are you? We'll come get you.”

And this was the part Clay was dreading. “I don't know.” He sighed and looked around again. “I'll call you when I find a mile marker.”

“You got rations? Water?”

“Yeah.” He checked through his bag and figured he had about half a day's worth of food and water. It was just his normal traveling bag, he didn't expect to get fucking teleported away from their truck. “I'm gonna save my phone battery, call you when I figure out where I am.”

Clay hung up and returned his phone to the safety of his pocket. He took a deep breath (as deep as the pain in his side allowed) and started walking, hoping to find a town, a gas station, something. The pain in his side faded, dulling a little, then went sharp again the longer he walked.

He passed mile marker one-seven-five on route eighteen and called Stranden back. “Fuck,” the other Witcher said. “We found mile marker four-eight-four. How did you get three hundred miles away?”

Clay's stomach sank. The heat of the sun was starting to beat down on him, setting, but still there, the early evening haze was like a weight on his skin. “I don't know, Strand... Guess you better put your foot down, and I better start walking.”

“Right. You head North and we'll head South. Try to find a town.”

“Yeah, I'll try.” While Clay wanted nothing more than to talk to his brothers, hear their voices and their reassurance as he walked, he had to save his battery. Checking his supplies one more time, he turned North and started walking. He didn't need Strand and Dieter to remind him, they were in the middle of nowhere Sodden. The closest beings were probably Aen Seidhe who wouldn't take kindly to three humans stomping about. They'd been hired by the government to kill the fiend to make the land accessible for humans again, there was no one for Strand and Dieter to go to either. If Clay managed to find a town... “Fuck,” he hissed, the sun suddenly hot on his skin, his side aching.

* * *

Jaskier fished Lambert's phone out of his pocket before the man could protest. Giving the shortest glance at the screen, he put it to his ear. “What's wrong?”

“Fuck, Jaskier, I called Lambert...” Stranden said.

“Jaskier, give me the phone.”

He ignored Lambert, pulling away and gripping the phone tight. Jaskier knew better than anyone how strong Lambert and the others were, but he would not relinquish his line to the boys, not when the squirming in his gut—that _wrong_ feeling—got worse the moment he heard Strand's voice. “Where are you? What's wrong?”

“Sodden, route eighteen, mile marker one-nine-zero. We were on a contract and something happened—”

“What? What happened?” Jaskier hissed. Lambert tried to grab for the phone again but furious blue eyes held him back. Lambert had never seen him like this, Geralt had maybe once, but none of the others had ever witnessed the protective fury that flared up inside Jaskier. A life surrounded by Witchers, he never had to get like this, until one of _his_ boys called in the dead of night, panic in his voice.

“We don't know, Jask! It was a fiend, opened its third eye and Clay fucking disappeared! It teleported him three hundred miles away! We've got him, he's mostly fine.”

“ _Mostly_?” Jaskier growled. “Sodden, route eighteen, mile marker one-nine-zero.” He threw the phone at Lambert and ran up the stairs, not trying to be quiet in the least. Even as Lambert talked to the boys, he heard the girls start to stir.

“Fuck,” he hissed, and followed. “What happened? Tell me? Fiend?”

“Yeah, a weird fucking fiend!”

Jaskier knocked on Yennefer's door, opening it before she answered, Lambert right behind him. “I need a portal!” he demanded.

She blinked up at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “What? Jaskier, what the fuck?”

“Portal, front yard, big enough for the boys' truck. Sodden, route eighteen, mile marker one-nine-zero.” Turning around, Jaskier stomped out of the room, brushing passed Lambert and yanking the phone out of his hand once again. “Yen's sending a portal, drive the truck through it, it should be big enough. How injured is Clay?”

“I'm fine!” Clay's exhausted voice crackled over the line. If they were in Sodden, they were lucky to have phone reception at all.

Jaskier made his way outside into the front courtyard, ignoring Geralt and Eskel behind him calling his name. He ignored the grumbles and grunts from Lambert as he tried to shoo the girls back to bed, focused solely on the tightness in his chest as he went outside, the cool night air doing little to calm his racing heart. He stayed on the phone and tried to get more information out of Stranden— “You said a fiend? How did he get teleported? What are his injuries?” —but he only caught half of it, the blood pounding loudly in his ears as he waited for Yen to open a fucking portal for them.

* * *

The safety lectures started three years ago and continued until the day they all set out; Jaskier sometimes called just to make sure they remembered to be careful. “I haven't lost a wolf yet,” Jaskier said, “I will not lose you. Don't put yourself at an unnecessary risk, I don't care how good the contract is. Stay together, don't get separated.”

“Jaskier, they're fine,” Lambert, or Geralt, or maybe even Eskel countered him.

But Jaskier shook his head. “You three survived with the help of a Jaskier once before, I will not have my family's record stained.” Fiercely protective blue eyes focused on them all, one by one, before he continued. “You will come back this winter and every winter after it. Or else.”

Well, now that the family secret was out of the bag—it wasn't just _a_ Jaskier who kept the School of the Wolf safe, but _this_ Jaskier—their teachers' lives took on a new scope. How many sleepless nights had Jaskier had over Geralt out on a contract? Or Lambert? Eskel seemed solid and reliable, more careful than the others, but Dieter didn't doubt Jaskier lost sleep over him as well. How much sleep had Jaskier lost over them?

Dieter couldn't help but pace back and forth in the dark as Strand tended to Clay. They couldn't do anything for his ribs at the moment—the fiend caught him with an antler before teleporting him—and they were bruised, possibly broken. That seemed mild in comparison to what Clay did to himself. Despite his food and water, he pushed himself, trying to get as far as he could to find them and now he was exhausted. Injured, sunburned, and exhausted. Dieter thought he'd only be on his own for two hours, three tops, but when they blew a tire and had to stop... too long. They made their brother wait too long and now he was hurting. But he'd live, Clay was stronger than a little exhaustion, they all were. It didn't make Dieter feel any better though.

There was a whoosh through the air, like a wave breaking across the top of turbulent waters, and a swirling portal appeared in front of them. Before Dieter could move, pick Clay up and drag him through, his phone rang. “Get in the truck, drive through the portal,” Jaskier's voice said by way of greeting. “It's big enough, I will not have you carrying Clay injured through a swirling vortex of magic. Get in the truck.” Jaskier hung up as quickly as he called and Dieter shook himself.

“Strand, get him in the truck.” It took both of them to lift Clay out of the bed where he was gently sipping on some water, Stranden monitoring him closely. “We're driving through the portal, Jaskier's orders.”

“Is he insane?” Stranden whispered, but followed his brother's lead. “It's a portal. Geralt always said never trust portals.” Their eyes met and they shared a thought, _but we trust Jaskier_.

With Clay secured in the back seat, they turned the truck towards the swirling portal. “Here goes nothin',” Dieter whispered. He pressed down on the gas and closed his eyes.

When he looked again, the Corvo Bianco courtyard exploded into view and he had to slam on the breaks. Jaskier stood in the middle of the courtyard, eyes thunderous. The back door opened and Geralt and Eskel pulled Clay out, Jaskier barking orders. “Get him into the living room! Lambert, get the med kit!”

“He's not too hurt!” They staggered after their mentors, and their brother. Jaskier stopped long enough to brush a comforting hand on their shoulders, his face softening for a moment. “The fiend, it—”

“Tell me.” Lambert handed off their medical kit to Jaskier and pulled the boys away, out into the hall.

Back in the living room, Jaskier let Geralt and Eskel lay their injured pup on a couch then snarled at them to back away, opening the boy's shirt to get a good look at his bruised ribs. “'m fine,” Clay whispered. “Fine...”

“I know you are, dearest, but let me take a look. Does this hurt?”

Unable to hear one of their boys in pain (it was stupid, Geralt had seen Lambert and Eskel nearly flayed open, carrying their organs along with them, but somehow this was different) Geralt turned to head upstairs, check on the girls. “Ciri's got them,” Eskel said. “She said she'd keep them quiet. C'mon.”

He followed Eskel into the library, where Lambert had Strand and Dieter on the couch, large glasses of water in their hands. “What happened?”

“Fiend,” Dieter said. “Weird fiend.”

“Weird how?”

“Stripes were wrong.” Stranden squeezed his eyes closed, calling up the knowledge they'd drilled deep into their minds. “And it was fucking huge. There was a pop, sounded like teleportation, and Clay was gone. We killed the fiend and called his phone. Somehow, he ended up three hundred miles away. He started walking, we started driving, but the idiot exhausted himself by the time we got to him.”

Yeah, that sounded like their pups. Couldn't just sit and wait to be rescued, had to do something about it. Sometimes Geralt hated himself for fostering that attitude in them, every once in a while, it really was better to wait. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Eskel, what do you think?”

He shook his head and sat down, laying his arm across the back of the couch, close enough to comfort. “We've seen strong fiends before, with extra powers. Might be an old one more attuned to Chaos, or some Third Conjunction bullshit.”

'Third Conjunction bullshit' was their go-to answer when monsters displayed powers they shouldn't have. Just another layer of insanity the world continued to hand them. Since they killed the fiend, there was no more threat. They all fell into restless waiting, Strand and Dieter passing out on the couch, curled together under a blanket Lambert threw at them, and the older Witchers simply waited. They knew not to interrupt Jaskier during his first aide—Geralt had that information first hand, when bothering Jaskier stitching him up earned him a stab on his uninjured side—and paced the library nervously, listening to Jaskier's soft bedside manner as he tended to Clay.

It was almost dawn when Jaskier stumbled into the library, leaning against the wall and sinking to the floor. His eyes were red, tired, with dark circles ringing them. He ran a hand through his hair. “Clay's sleeping. He has a few bruised ribs, but it's mostly the exhaustion.” His hands migrated down to cover his face, and all three Witchers smelled salt on the air. “He walked for over twenty fucking miles. Bastard, idiot child!” Jaskier thunked his head back against the wall, Strand and Dieter stirring in their sleep.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, staying well back. He learned long ago when he simply needed to let Jaskier linger with his emotions. But fuck, he wanted to help, to kiss the pain away. One look at Eskel and Lambert told him they wanted to do the same. “He'll be fine, a few days of rest—”

“Geralt. Shut up. Please.” Jaskier's voice was sharp, but his eyes distant. Tears weren't rolling down his cheeks, not yet, but he looked so very tired. The dark circles under his eyes were far too deep for their liking. “I need a moment. Please.” They all went quiet and Jaskier covered his face again, almost like he was trying to hide from the world. Eventually, he leaned forward, curling into a ball and resting his forehead on top of his knees.

Jaskier was silent for so long, they startled when he spoke again, even though his voice was so very soft. “Twelve,” he whispered. “My first life... I had twelve children. None of them with my name of course, they were all dalliances, the results of love affairs, but they were all _mine_. Beautiful blue eyed cherubs, every last one.”

“Jaskier—” Lambert moved forward, but Eskel held him back, wrapping his arms around one of his mates as another spoke of deep secrets.

“Most were royal, Geralt can attest to my back catalog. I knew they'd want for nothing and merely kept in touch with their mothers to give myself peace of mind. There were few odd village girls though, I sent them money when I could, showed up for the birth when possible.” Jaskier closed his eyes, remembering the time he spent all night and half a day walking sweet Magda Pell around the living area of her father's rooms, rubbing her back and letting her squeeze his hand to pulp. The traveling merchant was out of town, he didn't even know of his only daughter's delicate condition and Jaskier did everything he could to make sure she was cared for. He stood at the midwife's shoulder as she delivered his fifth daughter into the world.

“The Countess de Stael, she and I... we had two. A boy and a girl. I delivered them both.” He lightly rapped his head against the wall again, tears finally shining in his eyes. “They were beautiful, and I was only allowed to see them again after the Count passed away. It was never enough. But it was better like that. No one deserved a disgraced Viscount for a father, not when they had proper men waiting in the wings to raise them right.

“But I have more babies now, six boys, three girls, and I am proud to be their father. So for once, just fucking once, let me worry and dote and care for them. Alright? Don't tell me to calm down, or remember their training. The Path is hard and cruel, they need to face it like the Witchers they are, I get it, but for one moment please, just let me care for my injured son.” Head in his hands again, Jaskier curled deeper into himself. “I'll be strong again tomorrow.”

Moving forward slowly, Geralt dropped to his knees next to Jaskier and wrapped an arm around him. He breathed a sigh of relief when Jaskier leaned into him, allowing the comfort. “You're strong now,” he whispered into Jaskier's hair. “And I'm sorry. We never knew.”

“It's alright. Part of me didn't want you to know.”

Eventually, Eskel and Lambert joined them on the floor, sitting in comfortable silence until the boys started to stir. Geralt took them in to see Clay, and Eskel and Lambert took a now emotionally exhausted Jaskier to bed. “I missed being a father the first time,” he mumbled into Lambert's shoulder as they wrestled him out of his pajamas and under the covers. “I don't want to let it slip by me again.”

“You won't, you haven't, you are their father.” Eskel kissed his forehead. “Sleep well, Jaskier, see your children in the morning.”

Jaskier fell into a deep sleep, his body too wrung out to resist.

That was the first night he dreamt of the tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the boys gets injured on a contract. They return to Corvo Bianco and Jaskier takes care of him and has a lot of feelings. That's it, nothing more than some exhaustion and a manageable, Witcher-like injury.
> 
> Other notes:  
> 1\. I spoke to an outdoorsy camping friend of mine and asked how far a person in good physical condition could hike in one day, and how far would be an overexertion. He said he knew extreme people who did about 20 miles, but that was a lot for a person hiking with a pack, especially under duress. Since they are trained Witchers and a little more fit than most humans, I didn't think it was unreasonable for Clay to go 20 miles with a pack and swords and an injury, but still end up exhausted.  
> 2\. I am American and like with the first two parts, I'm coming at this with a very American point of view, hence the use of "mile" markers on the road. I have nothing against the metric system, but it isn't very poetic, "Miles to go before I sleep" is a damn catchy line. "Kilometers to go before I sleep," not so much. Sorry if the use of imperial takes people out of it, but I think the Continent is just the kind of place that would continue using weird and out dated measuring systems.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps it wasn't the best idea for Jaskier to keep his dreams a secret. But there was so much going on, Corvo Bianco hadn't been this busy in winter in years. Yes, winter was a time for rest, but six returning Witchers home from The Path, and three blood thirsty little she demons ravenous for stories, add in Ciri, and Yen popping by, the days were anything but calm... he didn't want to add more to the pile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly family fluff, we see what they all get up to in winter, everyone settling in...
> 
> Can you feel the plot building? I can.

Lightning streaked through the sky, followed by a rumble of thunder loud enough to shake a building. Rain poured down, making the muddy ground slick, almost unpassable. A scream tore through the air, waking Jaskier from his dream. Only then did he realize he was the one screaming.

“Jaskier, Jaskier!” A familiar, frantic voice said next to him. Arms like steel bands wrapped around him and Jaskier thrashed, throwing his elbow back. “Ohf! Fuck, Jaskier—”

Sweat cold on his face—cold like rain pelting down hard enough to rend flesh from bone—trickled down his neck, then, a hot hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality. “You're okay, just breathe...”

Jaskier's eyes shot around, trying to look at everything at once. Soft sheets under his back, the familiar shadow of his writing desk in the corner... it was their bedroom. He was home safe, not on the side of some muddy hill, rain and wind trying to throw him into the sea as he—

“G-geralt, who did I hit?” He'd lived with Witchers long enough to know what a sternum felt like under his elbow; though Jaskier failed at most combat techniques they tried to teach him, he took a women's self defense class with his sisters years and years ago, and knew the soft targets.

“I'm fine.” More awake now, Jaskier recognized Lambert's voice. He wasn't winded, and Jaskier couldn't actually hit hard enough to injure any of them, but he was sorry all the same.

“Lambert.” He rolled out of Geralt's arms and into Lambert's, hands sliding down his back to soothe. “I'm sorry.”

“It's alright, I'm fine.” Lambert squeezed him tight and he felt a little anxiety ebb away.

Eskel, quiet at first, sat up behind Lambert, looking down at Jaskier. With all the pups home for winter, they took some night watch shifts, letting their four mentors have some alone time. Jaskier tried not to think about it too much, and was grateful to the boys for helping out. Clay had recovered from his injury and after a few days of rest, he was back to sparring in the courtyard with the others, their little sisters looking on, eager to start sword training as soon as spring broke.

“Third night in a row,” Eskel said.

 _Third week in a row_ , Jaskier thought. He didn't always wake up screaming, so he'd been able to... keep his nightmares away from the others. He wasn't hiding them, or his terror, they were always there to comfort and kiss away his fear, he simply didn't want them to panic. There was a familiar feeling to his dreams, like when the memories of his old life started coming back—it felt like a memory of a specific time and place. But a memory of what or where, he didn't know. It was just the muddy hill and the stormy sky, sometimes a crooked stone tower on the edge of the cliff, but no more after that. If it was a memory, he couldn't place it, and Jaskier was confident he had all the pieces of his old life back together.

As Lambert stroked his back and Geralt spooned up close behind him, Jaskier's mind continued to race. He wouldn't find sleep again for a while, and he did feel so very bad for hurting Lambert... He let his fingers trail down, searching out a familiar cock.

“Hey now, you sure?” Lambert continued rubbing his back but shifted his hips away.

Jaskier followed him, moving closer, thrusting against him. “Yes, I'm sure. I did not enjoy that nightmare, now I want something I will enjoy. Please?”

None of them could resist Jaskier, not really, so when he slid a hand up Lambert's throat, thumb rubbing across his adam's apple just as he dragged his tongue over the same spot, Lambert started to melt. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to enjoy yourself, I know I will.” Jaskier pulled back, nuzzling at Geralt. “Eskel, Geralt, be good wolves and wrap around Lambert.”

The bed shifted as Geralt stood up—grabbing the lube from the drawer on his way—and settled back into bed behind Eskel, who grabbed Lambert, pulling them flush together. As they arranged themselves, Jaskier sat up and leaned back against the headboard to watch the show, hand falling to his own cock. By now, Geralt and Eskel knew what he liked to see and they moved almost automatically, rolling Lambert onto his back and pushing his knees apart.

Geralt took a moment to caress the inside of his thighs, eyes drinking him in. “We're so lucky Jaskier lets us play with you,” he growled, cock already hard, bobbing in front of him but not touching Lambert at all.

Lambert wiggled, trying to get more skin contact as Eskel settled behind him, turning him on his side. Four hands roamed over him, brushing every sensitive spot he had, but Lambert only had eyes for Jaskier as Geralt started stroking his cock, Eskel sucking love bites across his shoulders. “I want to see you happy, my wolf,” Jaskier said, his own hand sliding down his stomach, teasing a little. “I want to give you the best.”

“You make me happy,” Lambert said. Two slick fingers slid inside him and his eyes finally fell closed.

They moved together easily, had years of practice taking Lambert apart for Jaskier's viewing pleasure. But even though Jaskier slowly stroked his cock, Geralt and Eskel knew this wasn't for their pleasure and focused completely on Lambert. Rolling him over again, and pushing him between them, Eskel slid down the bed and licked across Lambert's cock before swallowing him down. His hips almost bucked, if it weren't for Geralt's iron grip on his hip, holding him still. He pushed three slick fingers into Lambert's hole and smiled when their little wolf growled.

“You can take it,” Geralt teased, turning his wrist. “I've seen your body do amazing things.”

Hitching one of Lambert's legs over Eskel's shoulder allowed Geralt to push in deeper, his knuckles brushing the edge of Lambert's hole. “Uh, fuck, please...”

“Come whenever you want, my wolf,” Jaskier said. “I want to see you happy.”

Eskel and Geralt took that as their cue to ramp things up. Eskel took him deep in his throat, nose brushing against coarse pubic hair, and Geralt's thrusts sped up, his forearm not even tired yet. Lambert bucked into Eskel's mouth then slammed back to get more of Geralt's fingers, unsure which sensation he desired most.

“So good, uh—” Jaskier whispered, then came across his hand.

The smell of Jaskier's come in the air was enough to push Lambert over and he growled, spilling down Eskel's throat, all energy bleeding from him, leaving him a contented pool in the middle of the bed. “Come here,” Jaskier ordered. Using the last of his strength, Lambert flopped down on top of their lark, head pillowed over his heart as Jaskier stroked his hair.

The bed dipped, Eskel and Geralt left to clean up, both still hard and aching. They returned to the bed to find Lambert's hazy eyes trying to track them through the room. “Don't worry about us,” Geralt said. “Lay with Jaskier.”

“Yes, don't worry about them, my wolf.” He ran his thumb across Lambert's cheek, urging his eyes to fall closed. “They're in good hands.”

And they surely were, with a nod from Jaskier, Geralt grabbed for Eskel, pushing them both down onto the bed. He retrieved the lube again and prepared Eskel, a little rougher than he had with Lambert, but they both loved it. Lining up their hips, Geralt thrust in, it was quick and rough, but Eskel snarled playfully, nipping at Geralt's ear. Jaskier let his eyes close and joined Lambert in sleep, the sound of his mates happy and sated lulling him into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea for Jaskier to keep his dreams a secret. They came every night now, sometimes he got a little farther, seeing the tower as lightning cracked too close, striking the ground at the edge of the cliff, close enough for him to feel the crackle of electricity on the air, and some nights all he heard was the storm raging around him. But there was so much going on, Corvo Bianco hadn't been this busy in winter in years. Yes, winter was a time for rest, but six returning Witchers home from The Path, and three blood thirsty little she demons ravenous for stories, add in Ciri, and Yen popping by, the days were anything but calm. Add in Ciri's growing powers, and the way his wolves tread so carefully around Jaskier's fatherly feelings... he didn't want to add more to the pile.

Ciri's development took everyone's attention, not just Geralt and Yennefer's. Shortly after confirming her reincarnation (which Yen was still trying to figure out, “There's more to it,” she told Jaskier late at night when she haunted the library, long black skirt trailing along the floor, “She's more than you... no offense.”) Jaskier became the sounding board for filtering through memories, new and old, and Eskel and Lambert became training partners. They all had their roles, trying to help her make sense of life; it reminded Jaskier of the first time he helped teach and train Ciri.

With the boys sleeping the days away, cozy in their new barn dormitories, the girls were Ciri's cheering squad when she trained with Lambert and Geralt. Leaning against the side of the house, Jaskier tried not to cozy into Eskel's shoulder, Tessa, Vivi, and Alvia were still a little young to learn about their unconventional relationship, though he suspected Alvia knew. She was the oldest of them all, her shrewd eyes picking up every detail. When they first arrived two years ago—stringy and a little underfed, like the boys—she was the first to complete the obstacle course without stopping to heave for breath. She reminded Jaskier of Ciri, stubborn, fierce, yet kind when necessary, and now with Ciri here to train with them, he saw the similarities more and more. All his girls were going to make fantastic Witchers.

Stronger than she'd been just a few months ago, Ciri blocked Lambert's downward stroke, her arms shaking a little. “Dodge when he comes over!” Geralt called from the side, pacing around the training ring. Lambert got Ciri off guard as she tried to listen. “He's stronger than you, use his strength against him.”

“You're distracting me!” she growled back, giving Lambert the opening to sweep her leg. “Ah!” Ciri started falling back, bracing to hit the dirt—there was a green flash and she disappeared.

The girls screamed, the three Witchers and Jaskier all snapped to attention, fanning out through the courtyard. “Ciri!” Geralt shouted. “Ciri!”

“Up here!” Jaskier turned and saw a head of ash blonde hair clinging to the roof, near the spot he liked to sit.

Geralt lunged across the courtyard, but Jaskier threw out a hand. “I'll get her, don't worry. Ciri, I'm coming!” He climbed the ladder and stood on the small landing. The spot where Ciri landed was a little steep, and she clung to the roof tiles like life, eyeing Jaskier's extended hand like a hook to drag her down rather than a line to pull her back to safety. “You're alright, I've walked this roof drunk and never fallen off.”

“Why would you do that?” She reached out and grabbed his hand, her knees still shaking, probably from the sudden teleport.

“It was Lambert's fault. Geralt brought back a barrel of Mahakam Meade from a contract, then passed flat out. Eskel was already asleep and Lambert didn't want to wait to try it until morning. He convinced me to open the barrel with him, then kept filling my glass. How I ended up on the roof is a little hazy, he said I wanted to go stargazing.” Jaskier loved looking at the stars, the relative peace of Toussaint reminded him of Dol Blathanna, where the city lights were far enough away to see the stars glitter, like a blanket of twinkle lights spread across the sky. “And to this day, he claims that he valiantly carried me down. Obviously, I managed not to break my neck.” The story distracted Ciri and she followed Jaskier down the ladder, her feet on the ground once again.

But the tension in the air didn't break. Lambert and Geralt had their swords drawn, both backing towards Ciri, their eyes on the sky. Eskel grabbed Tessa, Alvia and Vivi, holding them close, his eyes also skyward.

Nothing happened. The wind, mostly blocked by the courtyard walls, didn't shift, snow didn't start falling, the ground did not freeze. Geralt twitched. “The—the Wild Hunt, they're...” He blinked, shaking himself. “They're not coming.” He exhaled, shoulders slumping a little before he slid his sword back into its sheath. “They're not coming.”

Eskel and Lambert released the same breath. The Wild Hunt had been defeated long ago, they never came after Ciri again, not once in her long, healthy life. But the fear, the uncertainty of her presence, if she was back, why not the Hunt? It was logical, at least, to a Witcher's mind. Jaskier pat her on the shoulder and let her go to Geralt's arms.

“Magic,” he mumbled into her hair as he squeezed almost too tight. “I was wondering when that would come back. Now we have something to tell Yen tonight.”

Yennefer portaled in for dinner most nights, she came to see Ciri and Ciri alone, but she at least pretended to be interested in their lives, nodding as she listened to their stories of training, life on The Path. Although, she continued to speak to Jaskier, almost like she was consulting him, asking more and more probing questions about his reincarnation. “You remember everything?” she'd asked more than once.

“No one remembers everything, I'm sure I've forgotten a lot.” Twice, probably. There were the days he stopped cold in the library and started laughing. A strange, manic sound, like a goose with a kazoo, but he couldn't stop.

Once, Dieter woke from a dead sleep across a desk, a piece of paper sticking to his face. “Whas happening?” The other boys appeared from their various corners of the house. “Is he okay?”

Finally, Geralt arrived and stood behind Jaskier, a heavy hand on his shoulder. When his laughter died down, turning to desperate gasps for breath, he asked, “Did you remember the Valdo thing again?”

“Y-y-y-yes I—ha, fuck—I did.” Jaskier continued laughing, though it sounded more painful now as he clutched at the stitch in his side.

Geralt looked out at the sea of confused faces surrounding him. “Private joke, from a friend when he was younger...” Of course, the boys didn't know about Jaskier's reincarnation until recently, so the next time he had this laughing fit (it came up every few years or so, when he remembered that Valdo Marx did, in fact, die of apoplexy, though many decades after Jaskier wished for it) he'd tell them the truth and watch the horror and amusement flick across their faces that their _human_ father might have killed a man with absolutely no lingering guilt.

Yennefer tried to compare Jaskier's experience to Ciri's, asking them both the same questions over and over again. “Ciri, where did you get your scar the first time?”

“When I was fleeing the Tower of the Swallow, one of my attackers got me,” she said, like she had ten times before.

“And the second time? How did you get it in this life?” Yennefer was always gentle with her daughter, but sometimes her need to put the puzzle pieces together—the puzzle they were all trying to put together still, in the middle of teaching new Witchers, caring for the ones who just came off The Path—made her push a little too hard.

“I fell off my bicycle,” Ciri said, leaning into Jaskier on the couch. Yen often sat them together during these sessions, a comfort for them all. A soft smile crossed Ciri's lips. “My gran tried to catch me, she was walking beside me but I started going faster. She said I was doing so well...”

“I'm sure you were.” Jaskier pressed a kiss into her hair, giving her a squeeze as well. Sometimes the more powerful beings in the house—not just Yennefer, Geralt and the others as well, so used to Ciri's old magic—forgot that she was just a girl again, a girl who lost her last family before a lifetime poured into her mind and sent her to find Geralt of Rivia once more. It was a lot for a seventeen-year-old.

Wading through memories with Jaskier and Yennefer was a lot, and suddenly teleporting onto the roof was definitely a lot on top of that preexisting pile. He moved in close to Geralt and stroked a hand down Ciri's hair. “I think we've earned some pie, don't you agree?”

Lambert groaned. “Jaskier—”

But his complaints were soon drowned out by Tessa, Vivi and Alvia bouncing up and down, chanting, “Pie! Pie! Pie! Pie!”

They all walked inside to find Yennefer stepping out of a portal. “There was a burst of magic here, what happened?” Eskel frowned and Geralt looked a little startled. They were so used to the whoosh of a portal opening, they didn't even register the sound anymore, Yen just appeared in their house... they were getting sloppy.

Jaskier saw the protective fire welling inside of them and reached out a calming hand. “Ciri, want to tell her what happened?”

“I teleported!” The shock of it worn off, she bounced across the floor to hug Yennefer, still jumping a little. “And the Wild Hunt didn't attack!”

“The Wild—” With her arms full of teenager, Yennefer couldn't be alarmed. Jaskier herded them all to the kitchen for pie. Good thing he stopped at the bakery in town and bought a few winter treats late yesterday. The boys demolished two rather large pies, leaving one last one for the rest of the family.

They all sat at the table, warm apple pie with ice cream on every plate. Ciri wouldn't stop talking about her teleporting. Up until today, she hadn't shown a lick of magic, even the visions she said ran in her family hadn't surfaced again after the last one that sent her to find Geralt. But if Ciri's magic was returning, what did that mean for her reincarnation? Yennefer spent the last months trying to find the answer and came up blank. Perhaps this was the extra information she needed?

Jaskier speared the last few crumbs with his fork and delicately ate them, his belly full, but he didn't want the food to go to waste. He turned to his right, expecting to find Geralt and was met with a shock of dark hair, violet eyes staring into his soul. “I need more of your hair. I want to try your spell again. Maybe your hair did turn gold, I can't be sure I'm remembering correctly.”

While Jaskier wanted to savor the moment of Yennefer doubting herself (he'd never known that to happen, ever) he held up a hand to stop her. “One thing I know about you immortals, you don't forget anything. It's rather annoying. I have around a hundred and thirty years in my head and I can't remember last week very well. Destiny threw me in Geralt's path over fifteen years ago, and so far, nothing dire has happened. If we've been fine for that long, I don't think Ciri's going to accelerate whatever timeline the Universe has for us.”

Yennefer pressed her lips together. “I don't like not knowing the answers.”

“You'll figure it out.” With Lambert on his other side, he slid his plate across the table towards him. There was one last bite of pie crust and a spoonful of ice cream he just couldn't finish. Lambert took it and squeezed Jaskier's knee under the table before returning to his talk with Ciri and the girls, they were already devising a teleportation training schedule, fitting Yen's newly planned magic lessons in with everything else—Ciri had power, that was evident now, and so she needed to learn how to use it. Jaskier gave half a thought to making a proper chart for the kitchen so he could fucking remember where everyone was supposed to be, then turned his attention back to Yennefer. “You are the oldest, most powerful mage on the Continent, I have no doubt you can figure out two little reincarnations.”

She rolled her eyes. “Geralt, switch seats with me again.”

Chairs shuffled around and Geralt was back at Jaskier's side, his smile bright. “I can't believe she teleported.”

Jaskier smiled back. “Neither can I.”

Though winter was a time of rest, Alvia, Vivi, and Tessa still had lessons. Filled with sugar, Jaskier dragged them to the music room and let them go wild on his less than perfect instruments. Vivi always gravitated towards the drum kit Eskel got him and truth was, she wasn't bad, she had good natural rhythm and timing. “If the Witcher thing doesn't work out, you lot could be my back up band,” he joked. “Tour the Continent with my voice!”

“The boys can join us,” Alvia said, strumming the battered old practice guitar. The pups were all careful with the instruments, but growing bodies—especially growing Witcher bodies with extra muscles from swinging a sword—were gangly and unpredictable, Jaskier didn't mind a few dings and dents in his spare instruments. “They'd make good roadies.”

Jaskier chuckled and sat down at his keyboard, playing a tune that sort of matched the racket they were building.

When the boys finally dragged themselves out of bed—Clay long recovered from his adventure, his excuse of needing “extra rest” got him absolutely nowhere—they went about their chores with only a little grumbling. Word spread, of course it did, and they all stopped by Ciri's lessons to ask her about the teleporting. Yen was not amused and shooed them away. “Go to Eskel for your magic lessons, Ciri has more power in her little finger than you have between the six of you.”

Ciri pat them on the shoulder and pushed them out of the library. “Sorry about... all that. We can spar later, Dieter promised to go over footwork.”

And it was a normal day again, talk of magic and teleportation aside. Griffin and Stranden got in a snowball fight just before dusk, Ciri running in to join, Geralt's hand clasped in hers as she dragged him along. “I remember this!” she shouted, lobbing an icy chunk at Geralt's head.

After the excitement of the day, the girls were easy to get fed and into bed, their eyes slipping closed at the dinner table. They boys drew lots for who was on guard tonight, “We should just set a schedule,” Zander grumbled as his straw was picked for the second night in a row. Eskel stepped in and assigned Ollie to night watch, settling the argument.

“Zander needs sleep too,” he said as Ollie frowned at him.

With the boys sorted, Jaskier dragged them all to bed, settling between Geralt's legs as Eskel stroked his back, Lambert on Geralt's other side kissing whatever bits of the White Wolf he could reach. “Mmm, we deserve a bathhouse day this winter,” Geralt purred, carding his fingers through Jaskier's hair. Jaskier ran the flat of his tongue up Geralt's thick cock, savoring the musky taste of his skin. “Make the boys take the girls camping. The things I want to do to you all in the sauna...”

“You should tell me about them,” Jaskier said, then swallowed Geralt down to the root just as Eskel's hand dipped between Jaskier's cheeks. They didn't do this often, but as long as someone was stimulating Jaskier's hole, he could suck cock until dawn. Looked like Eskel was testing that idea once again, and Jaskier was happy to go along with it.

It didn't take long for Geralt to spill down Jaskier's throat, and he pulled him up for a kiss sticky with his own come. “My turn,” Lambert said. He pulled Jaskier until he let go of Geralt and took over the task of kissing, purring softly when familiar fingers lightly stroked his neck. They were too tired for a full scene, but with their matching leather cuffs in place, the brush across Lambert's throat was enough to remind him of Jaskier's love and care, which had been somewhat abbreviated lately. Eskel pushed up on Jaskier's other side and continued playing with his hole, fingers now slick with lube.

Jaskier straddled Geralt, cock leaking as Eskel fingered him and Lambert kissed him senseless, all while Geralt watched. The perfect end to an odd, yet still satisfying, day.

* * *

That night, two screams rang through the house, rousing everyone from their bed. Even out in the barn, insulated by enough junk that didn't have a home anywhere else, all six boys shot awake, holding their ears as Ciri's shout pierced the air.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven hundred years ago, there'd be arguing, shouting, throwing beds out castle windows, but after so long, so many years between them and behind them, they stood locked in silence, waiting for someone to speak. Eskel swayed back and forth between Geralt and Jaskier, his whole body tense; Geralt was similarly torn but absolutely frozen, his hand on his daughter's shoulder, the daughter he only recently got back... His eyes flicked up to Jaskier, golden orbs so deeply troubled and almost broken. The choice was not difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to get up early tomorrow and it's technically Thursday right now, so please enjoy the chapter a few hours early.
> 
> Please note: there's a lot of miscommunication going on here, the kind that can happen between even well-suited partners. A lot of family type arguing (just with Witcher-themed issues). Intense emotions abound in this fic and it's kind of ramping up here. If that feels like too much right now, maybe come back later. Take care of yourselves, and please enjoy <3

The pounding in Jaskier's head was almost unbearable, made all the worse by Ciri's screams. No matter what he did—closed his eyes, opened them, sat down or stood—his stomach felt moments away from lurching out of his body. He leaned into Eskel's solid shoulder as they all looked in on Ciri.

Yennefer gently held her while Geralt paced back and forth inside the bedroom, Lambert pacing out in the hall. Ollie was on watch, so it fell to him to calm the girls, make sure they were uninjured from the piercing magical scream just two rooms over. The others went to help him simply to have something to do; after that ear shattering noise rattling their bones, no one was sleeping again tonight.

Which is why Ciri was shaking, frustration coursing through her. Like her father and uncles, she wasn't upset by whatever nightmare flickered behind her eyes, but because of the distress she caused the house. Just as she was the first time, Ciri really was too good for this world. “I'm sorry,” she sighed. “Please, I'm fine, I want everyone to rest.”

“Let me worry about you for the moment,” Yennefer said, as if she did anything but worry about Ciri, it seemed to be her full time job. “First you teleport, then you have another vision. You haven't had one for months, this can't be a coincidence. Tell me about the dream.”

Wiping the last of the frustrated tears away, Ciri closed her eyes. “I was on a hill, it was raining, soaking me to the bone.”

Jaskier's eyes snapped open. Forgetting himself for the moment, he whispered, “Walking towards a tower?”

The halting descriptions Ciri tried to pull from her mind stopped, her eyes going wide. “Yes, there was a tower. At the top of the cliff. There was so much rain, I thought I'd drown before I got there.”

“The mud, it was so thick, weighing me down, it felt like the hillside would open up and swallow me.” Jaskier shuddered and leaned in closer to Eskel. Only then did he notice the room had gone absolutely, deadly silent. He opened his eyes and found everyone staring at him, even Yen, who hadn't taken her eyes off Ciri for close to an hour.

Ciri's own gaze was tired, drawn around the edges, but the first hint of genuine happiness pulled at her lips. Not happiness— _relief_. “Yes. It was horrible.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt's tone was smooth, only the slight rumble of sleep in his lovely, deep voice. “How are you having the same dreams as Ciri?” Before Jaskier could answer, Geralt's mouth clicked shut and he hung his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Your nightmares.”

Jaskier shifted, Eskel's arm around him suddenly loosening as he pulled away. He so wanted to follow, bury himself in that warm embrace, but now Eskel stood shoulder to shoulder with Geralt, both looking at him. Lambert, who was pacing in the hall, stopped cold. No doubt his eyes were on Jaskier as well. “Well, it's only one nightmare, actually... I didn't want to worry you.”

Geralt's lip twitched. “Well I'm fucking worried now. You can't keep these things from us, Jaskier, not when they might impact my daughter.”

Jaskier shrunk back. He instantly forgave Geralt the... inarticulate moment. They had a lot going on, which is exactly why Jaskier kept it to himself. “I didn't think my nightmares had anything to do with Ciri,” he whispered, dropping his eyes away, missing the look of apology that flashed across Geralt's face.

“You two share the distinction of being the only human reincarnations in existence,” Yennefer said. “I'd say most of what happens between you is connected.”

But Ciri shook her head, crease forming on her forehead in concentration. “No, Jaskier's right. The dream didn't seem like it was his. It felt like...”

“A memory,” Jaskier finished for her. They talked about memories of their past lives, how they came in small bursts, in dreams or sometimes in the middle of the day, and it always felt like another puzzle piece sliding into place. Looking through your own eyes from so long ago... it was hard to explain. The tower dream—memory, whatever it was—felt like a new puzzle strewn all over the floor with pieces still missing. Some nights, Jaskier saw more of the memory, others he just saw the tower or the mud. He didn't have it all yet, which was different. As soon as one of his old memories slid into place, the whole thing played in his head. “But not a memory of mine.”

“What does that mean?” Yen asked.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Jaskier shook his head. “It's hard to explain. When I think about an old memory, I can see myself there. It feels like I am myself, just... another version. This one,” he shook his head again, trying to shake the words out, “it didn't feel like me. I don't know what it was, but I've never climbed that hill, I've never walked through that storm. Someone has, but it certainly wasn't me.”

“Or me,” Ciri said. “It's not familiar, none of the worlds I remember traveling to.” Her memories were still a little jumbled, probably not all back yet, but Jaskier understood: there was a kind of bone deep certainty when you'd seen a moment before. You just _knew_ , and he and Ciri did not recognize this tower.

Yennefer pressed her lips together, looking from Jaskier to Ciri, then back to Jaskier. “We need to finish the memory. See what it's trying to show you. That might give us a clue as to why you're both experiencing the same scene.”

“No,” Lambert growled, bursting into the room and standing behind Jaskier, his chest bumping against the human's back. He barely stopped himself from wrapping Jaskier in his arms and pulling him away from the insane sorceress. “No way, you're not going poking around in his mind. It's a dream, not some fucking prophecy.”

“We don't know that!” she growled back, retreating a little towards Ciri. “Two human reincarnations sharing the same lost memory? That's not a coincidence. We need to get to the whole memory, see what it's trying to tell them.”

Lambert bit his tongue and did wrap his arms around Jaskier, protecting him the only way he could at the moment. No one would dare suggest Yennefer go poking around in Ciri's head instead, none of them wanted that, they needed a better plan, anything that wasn't... this. Seven hundred years ago, there'd be arguing, shouting, throwing beds out castle windows, but after so long, so many years between them and behind them, they stood locked in silence, waiting for someone to speak. Eskel swayed back and forth between Geralt and Jaskier, his whole body tense; Geralt was similarly torn but absolutely frozen, his hand on his daughter's shoulder, the daughter he only recently got back... His eyes flicked up to Jaskier, golden orbs so deeply troubled and almost broken. The choice was not difficult.

“What's the spell entail?” Jaskier said, breaking the tense stillness, even Yennefer startled a little.

Lambert's arm tightened around him. “Jaskier, you don't have to—”

“I want to.” He leaned back, nuzzling against Lambert as much as he could without taking his eyes off Geralt. His shoulders slumped like his strings had been cut, but there was still anxiety thrumming through him; to save his daughter, he thought he was sacrificing one of his mates... oh, Geralt, so stupidly noble. “Tell me what I have to do, and we'll do it. I want the nightmares to stop as much as anyone.”

The room released a collective breath, though Lambert continued to vibrate with worry behind him. Jaskier tried to lean back, giving him as much attention as possible.

Yen ran a shaky hand through her hair, still fluffy from sleep. She wasn't as done up as usual, which really was saying something; looking good was a simple wave of her hand, but if she was this frazzled... “I don't think putting you to sleep will finish the memory, especially if it's unpleasant. You'll just wake up again. I can look for whatever block might be in your mind, holding you back from seeing all of it.”

Lambert growled again. “See, you know it's not going to be a pleasant experience, and you still want to—”

“Lambert,” Jaskier gripped his hand, silencing him with the sharp tone. It wasn't the tone he used when Lambert misbehaved, but it was close enough to catch his attention. “This is my choice. No one else gets an opinion.” Slumping back into Lambert's arms, he covered his face with his hands. “But not tonight. We'll figure it out in the morning, alright?” For better or worse, Jaskier actually trusted Yennefer. Since Ciri returned, she turned out to be a helpful resource around Corvo Bianco, and he felt like he owed her for the emergency portal at the beginning of winter... Yennefer helped save one of his children, the least he could do was return the favor.

Lambert's arms still wrapped around him, Jaskier let himself be pulled back into the hall, Eskel trailing behind them. He pushed in close as well, but did not try to take Jaskier out of Lambert's arms, Eskel knew better than that. The chaos of the night grated against Lambert's already frayed nerves, making him extra reactive and clingy. Eskel couldn't blame him and fully intended to join in as soon as they got Jaskier back to their room.

“You should have told us,” Eskel whispered.

Jaskier shook his head. “Yes, I know. But there was so much going on, I didn't want to take attention away from more important matters—”

“Hey.” They all slammed to a stop and Lambert held Jaskier in place as Eskel cupped his jaw, bringing their eyes together. “There is nothing more important than our family, and that means you too. We don't want you burying your pain because you think it's easier for us.”

“He's right.” They all looked to see Geralt lingering a few steps away, swaying from foot to foot, eyes darting away every few seconds, but always returning to Jaskier's face. “We need to know things. We promised to keep you safe and...” Biting his tongue, Geralt sighed, rubbing a hand through is hair. “Can I talk to Jaskier alone?”

Eskel and Lambert exchanged glances before moving away—Lambert pressing one last kiss to Jaskier's neck as he went. Eskel wrapped an arm around him to comfort and they headed down the stairs. “We'll be waiting.”

The door to Ciri's room was shut, Yennefer's quiet voice muffled behind it. They stood awkwardly until the door downstairs closed.

Suddenly, Jaskier found himself with an arm full of Witcher, Geralt's head on his shoulder, white hair cascading down his back as too strong arms squeezed the breath from him. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. You're important to me too, I don't expect—I don't expect you to risk yourself for Ciri's sake. I—”

“Shh, shhh, shhh...” Jaskier hushed, rubbing Geralt's broad back as it shook. “I'm not angry. I understand, ever since Ciri came back, it's been... we're all waiting for the other shoe to drop. And this might be it. I don't want to risk her either. And I should have told you.”

Geralt pulled back, eyes rimmed in tears that had yet to fall. “You don't have to. We'll find another way—”

He laid a finger across almost trembling lips. “I want to help. Ciri's part of my family too. And after what happened with the boys...” Jaskier closed his eyes and leaned their foreheads together. When he wasn't dreaming of that blasted tower, his nightmares came in visions of the boys, bruised and broken, too far gone for his help. His heart twisted at the mere thought, his children—or the closest thing he'd ever have—suddenly cut down by the profession he helped train them to take. He couldn't begrudge Geralt his want to protect Ciri, not when Jaskier would happily destroy every monster on the Continent to keep his sons safe. “I want to do this, it'll answer a lot of questions for me as well. Please, don't worry.”

He tilted his head up to meet Geralt's lips and let out a happy sigh when he didn't pull away, returning the kiss with all the passion they could muster at two in the morning. When the kiss broke, Jaskier leaned their heads together again. “Stay with Ciri tonight, the others will take care of me.” Geralt didn't move and Jaskier playfully shoved him away. “Go, watching over her will make you feel better.” With one last kiss, Geralt walked down the hall to rejoin his daughter and her mother.

Now that Geralt had apologized for his knee jerk reaction, he could think clearly. He'd get more information out of Yennefer and make sure Jaskier was safe. He trusted Geralt to know what they needed to do, because Jaskier would like to get to the bottom of this too. He headed down the stairs, only two more distraught Witchers left to soothe tonight.

When he entered the darkened bedroom, Eskel was right there, stripping his clothes using efficient tugs not intended to arouse. “I'm sorry. We've all been through a lot, we shouldn't press you for more. What do you need from us?”

Eyes adjusted to the darkness, Jaskier looked at the bed and saw Lambert stretched out, waiting to take his cue from Jaskier. Big, sad eyes made his heart break a little more and he sighed. “I didn't mean to keep it from you. We've all been so busy...”

Lips brushed his temple, scenting his hair, Eskel taking quick comfort in Jaskier's scent. “What do you need from us?”

Jaskier swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. Anxiety and adrenaline did that. “Water?”

Jumping from the bed, Lambert fetched the large bottle Geralt kept on the window sill so they'd have cold water in the middle of the night. There was ice in the kitchen, but old habits died hard, they were all too accustomed to having a pitcher sitting on the leaky window of a dreary, snow covered castle.

Jaskier accepted the bottle and drained it in a few long pulls, the cold liquid pouring through him, calming the manic shaking inside him from his dream, Ciri's scream, and this too long night. He wiped his mouth and handed it back to Eskel. “Thank you.”

“Anything else? Whatever you need.”

“Mmm, sleep? A cuddle?”

Without another word, Eskel dragged Jaskier into the bed, arranging him between him and Lambert. The youngest Witcher—fuck, it was strange to think of any of them as young, himself included—pushed up behind Jaskier as he rested his head on Eskel's chest. With the strong, steady beat of a heart under his ear, Jaskier closed his eyes, the exhaustion of the night suddenly taking over. All the adrenaline of the dream had faded away, leaving him utterly spent.

Before he drifted off, Jaskier reached out for them both, squeezing and touching, showing them he was sorry. “I love you,” he whispered, then fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

It wasn't quite dawn when Jaskier's eyes opened, a pain in his lower stomach. The water may have slaked his thirst, but now his bladder needed seeing to. After so many years pulling himself out of the middle of a puppy pile, Jaskier got out of bed without waking either Lambert or Eskel, tripping to the bathroom. He flipped on the light out of habit, temporarily blinding himself, but as soon as he found the toilet, he didn't care anymore. Only another moment and he'd be back in the firm arms of two out of three Witchers, and the arms of sleep.

He cracked open one eye to find his way back to the door and stopped when he saw Lambert at the threshold, kneeling on the cool tile, his arms wide to block the door. Red-rimmed eyes looked up at him and Jaskier's heart ached. “Lambert, what's wrong?”

“Is this... is this why you haven't...” He took a breath, barely able to get the words out. Jaskier moved in close and stroked a hand over the back of his head, the simple touch immediately grounding Lambert to the world again. “Is this why you haven't wanted to play? I thought you didn't want me, that I did something—”

“Shhh, no of course not.” Falling into _take care of Lambert_ mode, Jaskier thought about the last few days... weeks... too long. Though he wore their usual cuff every day, their play cuff sat in the drawer unused, Jaskier preferring to have Eskel and Geralt spoil Lambert while he watched. He thought he hid it well, his fear that he wasn't strong enough to keep Lambert safe, all the stress of his book, the pups, and his nightmares, stretching him too thin. Jaskier didn't trust himself to be what Lambert needed, but pulling away wasn't the answer either.

Tipping Lambert's eyes up, Jaskier kept his voice low. “You have done nothing wrong. I should have told you I wasn't feeling... strong enough. I didn't think I could give you what you needed, so I asked Eskel and Geralt to do it for me.”

It wasn't just the other day when he instructed them to hold Lambert between them, there had been other nights where Jaskier sat back and stroked his cock, watching Geralt bend Lambert over their bench. “You're doing so well, my wolf,” he cooed, “you look so beautiful for me. Let Geralt kiss your neck, yes... now let him bite you.” Lambert wanted to please him so desperately, and Jaskier just... didn't feel worthy of it. He was exhausted, focused too much on other things, he didn't deserve the gift that Lambert offered, no matter how much he wanted to reach out and take him.

But apparently, he failed to remember that Lambert wanted him as well. Kneeling on the cold tiles, he leaned into Jaskier, his body craving his touch. Jaskier had been too worried about keeping his own feelings in check, he forgot how much Lambert _wanted_ him, to please him, make Jaskier feel good... The weight of secrecy finally off his mind, he had just enough energy to give Lambert what he deserved.

Bracing his hands on the door frame, Jaskier spread his legs, opening himself up. “I'm so sorry, please forgive me. Of course I want you, how could I not? You're amazing, the most loving, precious partner I could ever hope for, you give everything to me. And I want to give you everything as well. I think you deserve a treat, my wolf. Take whatever you need, you've been so patient.”

Lambert's eyes swam in almost tears before a soft purr rumbled from his chest. Burying his nose in Jaskier's pubic hair, he sniffed, long and slow, letting the scent of his lover fill him. A happy shiver rattled his shoulders and Lambert wrapped his arms around Jaskier, cupping his ass cheeks and taking in deep lung fulls of his smell.

When Jaskier thought Lambert would kneel there and sniff him until dawn, the first lap from a warm tongue almost made him jump. He curled his hands into the door frame and sighed softly as Lambert licked gently at his sac, then down the bend of his thigh. Even, white teeth bit down on the soft flesh of his inner thigh, sucking hard enough to leave a red mark, but not to bruise. “Yes!” Jaskier gasped, his cock fully leaking, precome beading at the head and dripping down the shaft. Lambert didn't let a single drop escape, lapping it away before licking the insides of Jaskier's thighs again, down his perineum—so close to his hole—then back to his balls.

He couldn't help the sob of pleasure that erupted from his chest. He didn't want to wake Eskel, but oh, it was too good. Lambert's tongue was heaven as he licked over Jaskier's balls again before moving up, long, wet licks to his shaft. Lambert hadn't even taken him fully into his mouth yet and Jaskier was on a hair trigger. Just when he thought he was about to explode, come all over that beautiful face, Lambert swallowed him down, sucking like he was made for it.

Strong arms around his hips kept him in place as he bucked, spilling down Lambert's throat. “Yes, yes,” he panted. “Thank you, my wolf.” Once Jaskier's hands stopped shaking, he reached down and pulled Lambert to his feet, rubbing their noses together. A hard cock nudged his hip and Jaskier licked his lips. “Now what else do you want? Tell me, and you can have it. You've been amazing, and you deserve it.”

Lambert licked into his mouth, feeding Jaskier some of his own spend. Jaskier moaned again, seeking out more of the taste on Lambert's tongue; they all did this, passed around their scents between each other, Geralt tasting of Eskel as Lambert tasted of Geralt, Jaskier was just pleased to be a part of it. When he broke away, he bumped their foreheads together and pulled Jaskier back towards the bed. “Wanna mark you,” he whispered. “I want everyone to know you're mine as much as I'm yours.”

“I am. I really am.” Jaskier fell back into the bed, Eskel stirring next to them. He didn't intervene, just watched as Lambert blanketed himself over Jaskier's chest, sucking more love bites into pale skin as his hips rocked, rutting against Jaskier's thigh. “Yes,” Jaskier growled, urging him on. “Show Eskel who gets me first, c'mon my wolf, mark me.”

A few more stuttering thrusts and Lambert came, teeth biting down on a nipple as his cock jerked and pulsed, spend coating Jaskier's hip. Before any could roll onto the sheets, Lambert reached down and swiped his finger up Jaskier's side, pushing it all to pool in the hollow of his hip before spreading his scent across his stomach, watching it stick to Jaskier's thick chest hair.

“Fuck,” Eskel sighed, the smell unmistakable. He had to breathe deep to find Jaskier's natural fragrance under all the _Lambert_ covering him. He smirked as he watched Lambert arrange them, his arms locked around Jaskier. Eskel checked his gaze before moving in close enough to feel their body heat, but he didn't wrap around the way they were before, it was Lambert's turn to have the piece of Jaskier he'd been missing for too long. “You look amazing together,” Eskel said. He closed his eyes and placed a hand gently on Lambert's shoulder. “Go back to sleep, still a few more hours until...”

He didn't finish, he didn't want to sour the mood. Besides, they already knew. Just a few more hours until Yennefer tried to open up Jaskier's head and see what this terrible dream really meant. Even though Lambert wanted the closeness more, he let Eskel scoot in, both of them surrounding Jaskier as they fell asleep again, forgetting their troubles until morning.

* * *

Eight hundred years, nine? Who even kept count anymore? Almost a millennia of life, they still tried to stall for _more_ time. “He didn't sleep well last night, and you didn't either, Yen. Maybe we should try this tomorrow?” Eskel said. It sounded reasonable on the surface, and he was betting they were all dumb enough to buy into his soulful eyes and soft, serious words.

Jaskier was the one to put his foot down. “No, I want this figured out now. If you're not here to be supportive, you can go outside with the boys.” The boys were almost worse than the fully grown Witchers; Griffin hadn't let the volume on reincarnation out of his possession since the secret came out at the beginning of spring, squirreling it away in his room where they had to go searching for it; Clay spent all morning glaring at Yennefer as she worked; Zander tried to keep the girls focused on their training but ended up telling stories of The Path instead, half an ear turned towards the preparations going on in the library. Shortly before lunch, Jaskier finally had enough and threw them all out to eat in the chilly front courtyard. “Pretend you're snow camping!”

Ciri, sweet girl that she was, with only the memory of a hard life, she didn't have the same steel behind her eyes quite yet, just the determination that she had a destiny and she was fucking going to figure out what it all meant—she was the first to run at Jaskier as soon as they all woke. “You don't have to do this. Let Yennefer research more, prepare. What are a few nightmares? We've all had far worse.”

“Ciri's right,” Geralt said. “We shouldn't rush. Taking the time to look at the evidence is better than—”

Jaskier silenced him with a hand on his shoulder and one of his most patient smiles, the one he used when teaching Stranden the piano or Clay the guitar, their fingers calloused in different spots, not used to the very specific motions of the music. “I will not endure this another night, and I won't let Ciri either, Yen knows what she's doing.”

Of course they were nervous, that came as no shock, the real surprise was Yennefer. A hundred years and some change of her treating him with contempt, or at the very least ignoring him, her concern was a lot to get used to. As she checked book after book, wrestling the one from Griffin's hands early that morning, she kept looking up at Jaskier, her cool and calculating gaze suddenly... worried?

When she finally finished the concoction she was working on and poured it into a mug, she took a breath before walking across the room. “Sit on the sofa, you'll be more comfortable.”

The snappish _since when do you care about my comfort?_ died on Jaskier's tongue. If he was too old to play those sorts of games, the others were definitely too old for it. He reached for the mug and took the warm liquid (smelled like mint tea) from her hand. “It's fine, Yen, I trust you. I want to get to the bottom of this as much as any of you.”

She pressed her lips together. “Last night was... I shouldn't have pushed. You don't have to do this to prove anything to me. I know you care about Ciri.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “You too? I can stand the concern from my idiot wolves and my pups, but you? You and I are supposed to be made of sterner stuff.” As the only _human_ human in the room (or, close enough) Jaskier was supposed to be the one shaking, scared of the unknown spell to unlock the unknown dream which would explain the unknown force that apparently tied him and Ciri together. But he was calm, cool, ready to solve this mystery and move onto the fixing the problem part of the quest. Geralt was right, he and Yen were protecting their daughter the same as Jaskier had the urge to protect his pups. It may have taken several life times for him to understand, but he finally got Yennefer, at last. “What do I do?”

Drawing herself up, shoulders square, Yennefer settled into what Jaskier privately thought of as 'suffer no fools sorceress mode.' Only the spell mattered, and Yennefer was fucking good when it came to her spells. “The brew will open your mind to my suggestion and I'll push you to recall the dream. You won't sleep, but you might feel a little dizzy. The mint should help with any nausea.”

Jaskier sniffed the not-tea again. Of course the mint wasn't part of the spell, magic never tasted good, but Yennefer was considerate enough to try to make the brew more palatable. He appreciated it. “Alright, bottoms up.” The room twitched collectively when Jaskier drank the potion in his hands. The mint was almost overwhelming, like toothpaste, and yet, there was a hint of earthy herbs underneath it, it tasted like Jaskier just got a mouth full of dirt and grass... and toothpaste. He finished the drink and handed it back to Yen. “How long will it take?”

Taking a deep breath, Yennefer stepped forward and rested her fingers on Jaskier's temples. “I'm trying to access your mind now. With any luck, it shouldn't take—”

* * *

Lightning streaked through the sky, thunder cracked, and mud squelched under his boots. He frowned down as his foot sunk into the muddy hillside again. “Fuck.” Looking up, the rain continued to beat down on them, the black clouds swirling. Ciri couldn't tell if it was part of the curse they were supposed to break or just some extremely shit weather. Either way, it made his already uncomfortable armor even more so. He never thought he'd see the day when he was unaccustomed to his armor, but lately, he wore soft tunics and breeches more than anything else. All the wars were done, he was retired, and a retired fighter didn't need armor. Pushing down the urge to scratch at the spots where the rain leaked through and wet his skin, he pushed on, up the hill, towards the cracked, crumbling tower.

The thing didn't even look like it could stand, how it wasn't swaying in the harsh wind was anyone's guess. But there was a light, at the very top window. A portal, supposedly, their way in. Break the curse, get home, simple, straight forward job. He could barely hear the other heartbeats around him, but they were there, one last mission with Eskel and Lambert, all of them together...

“Geralt!” Triss' voice shouted.

Geralt stopped cold, reaching into his satchel for the xenovox, his only link to... The wet metal slipped in his fingers, but he managed to get a hold. “Triss? What's happening?” he shouted over the wind. A few steps away, Lambert and Eskel turned, their eyes wide, shoulders suddenly even more tense.

“It's Jaskier! He's taking a turn. He probably won't last much longer. I'm opening a portal for you.”

The wind picked up and blew more rain into his eyes, Geralt lifted his hand to shield them. “Where?”

“Over the cliff. You'll have to jump!”

“Jump?” Lambert shouted, voice a little higher than normal. They were close enough to hear over the sound of the storm and even Eskel looked a bit green at the idea of jumping off a cliff _into_ a portal. “Is she fucking serious?”

“We can't leave yet!” Eskel yelled, pointing up at the tower, the light at the top flickering. “If we do, _that_ portal won't open for another seven hundred years!”

Geralt didn't even have to think. “I'm going to see Jaskier. You can do what you like.” He took off running towards the cliff, the mud suddenly not his concern. His feet pushed as if he were running on solid ground, always forward, towards Jaskier.

“Fuck!” Eskel growled, then two sets of feet sounded behind him.

They reached the edge of the cliff, heard the swirling, sucking portal over the sound of the rain, and jumped.

* * *

Jaskier's eyes shot open and a cold shiver ran down his spine. Chilled sweat covered his face, not rain, just sweat, the rain wasn't actually here, he was—

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked, moving in close to the couch, the others right behind him.

Blue eyes flicked up to his and Jaskier curled his lip, letting out a snarl. “What the fuck did you do?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was just like a story, a tale of three brave Witchers who set out to rescue a damsel, but got swept up in her troubles, all on account of their own painfully soft hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter is a flash back to the "original" setting, so the world of the Witcher as we know it. While is does not happen on screen, there is discussion of Jaskier (who is very old at this point in time during the flash back) about to die of natural causes. There are many feelings on this. This is the point of the major character death tag on this whole series: going so far into the future, people have died in the past of natural causes, and Jaskier does have to relive the memories of his own death from time to time. There's also a lot of heightened emotions and arguing in this chapter. If that feels like too much right now, it's okay to come back later, the fic will be here <3
> 
> I'm also mixing actual lore with my own ideas in this chapter. I've kind of been doing that all along, but this is where it starts kicking in, some lore from TW3 and then some of my own tweaks that worked better for the story. If anything sounds weird or you're not sure what part of canon it comes from, then it's probably me making things up. Please enjoy.

Geralt's boots squeaked as he paced and he fucking hated it. For weeks now, he hadn't worn boots, not since... It was easier to crawl into bed with Jaskier without having to stop and take off his boots, and any chance to be close to the fading human—the light of their lives going out before their eyes—was a chance he took.

But now he was so far away, just in the dining hall, pacing back and forth in front of the cooking fire, but being two floors away from the man who was no more than a breath away for weeks was intolerable. He could still hear him, that dimming human heart that just kept beating despite its age. Jaskier's eyes were still bright though his skin was thin and papery, dry from the heat of his fire roaring in the chilling temperatures of mid autumn. It was so hard to keep him warm these days, some nights, he needed all three of them in bed with him, their heat permeating his weakened muscles.

Triss was by his bed now, conversing softly about a bardic competition she saw on her way through Oxenfurt. “The winner performed _Toss A Coin_ ,” she said. Geralt could hear her smile in the words.

“Ah, all these years and still a favorite...” Jaskier replied. Geralt heard his smile too, but much, much weaker.

They left his lute on the bedside table if he had a wish to strum it, but he mostly just held it now. He was holding it earlier as Lambert sucked Geralt off in front of the fire, even white teeth biting down on thin, but still rosy pink lips. They hadn't... Jaskier hadn't participated in a while, nothing more than a gentle hand around his cock or a quick blow job before his strength left him. He preferred to watch them, enjoyed when they took their pleasure from each other. “Beautiful,” he whispered after, when they both curled up next to him, his fingers tangling in snow white hair as well as black. “Thank you for the show. The judges gave it rave reviews.”

Geralt wanted to be there now, enjoying the afterglow, fetching Jaskier whatever he might need. Instead he was stuck downstairs, listening to someone with a fucking contract for them. It had been years, almost a full decade since Geralt took an honest to gods contract, he mostly did favors for his neighbors in Toussaint, a pack of wild boars here, giant centipedes there, taking payment in wine and good food instead of gold. With Corvo Bianco doing so well, he was seriously thinking about retiring for good, making wine for the rest of his life; he tried to get Jaskier to go back down there when he started to decline— “The warm will be better for you,” —but the stubborn asshole of a bard insisted Kaer Morhen was his home, it's where he wanted to...

“Geralt?” Eskel's soft but firm voice broke through the thoughts clouding his mind. He turned sharply to see everyone staring at him, Lambert, Eskel, Ciri, and their... guest. “Did you get that?”

He shook his head, wiping a hand over his too tired eyes. “My apologies. I didn't mean to—”

The elf waved away Geralt's concerns, his lips turned down into a frown. “I understand, I didn't exactly come at the best time, but our need is quite dire.” Hair darker than most Aen Seidhe Geralt had met, Gynaevl fen Daetre ran a hand through the dark auburn locks that came loose from the tie at the base of his neck. “We have a very small window.”

“To break the curse.” Geralt's eyes flicked over to Eskel, _see, I was listening_.

“Exactly. A curse we brought on ourselves, unfortunately.” His shoulders hunched and Geralt gave him a moment to collect himself. Gynaevl had traveled a great distance even before Ciri brought him to Kaer Morhen, he was exhausted, clothes and skin dirty from the journey. Eskel offered him a rest, but he insisted on business first. “Rhena Saov is a navigator... the first navigator, the first to be able to travel between worlds, or even teleport across the same plane of existence, truly a gift. When the Aen Elle turned their eyes to conquest, we feared they'd follow her as she traveled and try to take what we had. This was before humans tried to steal our lands for themselves, we didn't know we needed protection from them as well. Without her...” He bit down on his next words.

“We were fools to bind her. The information she brought from other worlds was invaluable, it could've saved us from so much destruction—” he cut himself off again, waving away his own words as if the argument had been going around and around in his head for decades with no solution in sight. “The portal to the world where she sleeps is only open every seven hundred years, Elder Blood is the key to unlocking the binding spell that sealed her in, the only way to enter and wake her from her sleep between worlds.”

“Between worlds?” Eskel asked. He was usually silent when negotiating contracts, letting the 'stoic Witcher' thing really work for him. But even he was pacing, eyes flicking up towards the ceiling, towards Jaskier. “Why not somewhere you knew would be safe? Surely a navigator would be able to find a safe world that was more stable. Pocket dimensions are...” _Complicated_.

“Rhena Saov's has a reincarnation cycle, the only Aen Seidhe to do such a thing. Her power is too great, she ages faster, passes on, begins life a new to bless another generation with her wisdom. If she was on another plane and passed away, the Aen Ell might be able to follow her spirit as it traveled to it's next cycle. We needed her in one place to keep her safe, and we needed her to stay there. At least, that was the belief at the time, the belief of _fools_.” The elf ground his teeth together and shook his head. “Forgive me, so many mistakes were made then, I still have... difficulty accepting them.”

“Fear makes us do strange things,” Geralt whispered. He was listening, paying attention to what this contractor wanted from them, but his eyes and all his other senses were tuned to Jaskier, even now. He felt the ragged breath as if it came from his own lungs, smelled the scent of death perfumed with chamomile...

“Quite right.” Collecting himself again, Gynaevl stood up tall. “She was taken out of time, locked in a place that broke her reincarnation cycle. As soon as she sets foot in this world again, it will begin as if it was never stopped, and the balance will be restored, I'm certain of it.”

Ciri stepped forward, placing a vial of her own blood in front of her father and uncles. “I can provide the key, he told us where the lock is, you three just have to turn open it.”

“Why Witchers?” Eskel asked. “You have all the components, you can't go yourself?”

Gynaevl shook his head. “She has a guardian, a beast of some sort, the specific knowledge is lost to my people. And there may be other obstacles. My people are skilled hunters and fighters, but where there's a monster, you need a Witcher.”

Lambert, also itching to return to Jaskier's besides, stopped his fidgeting and looked up at their guest. “Let me get this straight: you had a direct line to what was happening in other worlds—a way to see those who might do you harm—and you severed it willingly? Locked her in a tower, fucking pulled her out of time for seven hundred years? Am I getting this right?”

Green eyes squeezed shut. “To put it bluntly, yes. There was a lot of fear in those days, the Aen Elle... we didn't know what they wanted from us, only that they'd conquered their own lands, wiped their competition from the face of their earth, and they might look towards us. Rhena seemed to think it was likely and agreed to the plan at first. But now we must set it right. At the very top of her tower, the portal to where she sleeps only appears every seven hundred years. In less than a day, it'll be gone again. Please, I beg of you, help me correct my family's mistakes.”

“Your family?” Eskel asked.

“Yes, my father was part of the group that made the decision to bind her. It's been a long seven hundred years... please, help us make it right.”

Geralt looked towards the ceiling, towards Jaskier, safe but fading in their bed. Eskel and Lambert looked up as well, all of them thinking the same thing... “Geralt,” Ciri said, bringing his attention back. His eyes locked with hers, luminous green shining in the dim light. “Triss and I will be here with him, she can send a portal if anything happens. Please consider this contract. We've all done so much to help right the historical wrongs in the world. Elder Blood was used to bind Rhena, I want to use mine to free her.”

The ruse of Ciri's death lasted a few decades, until Emhyr was on his death bed and she went to him (against Geralt's advice). Another heir was lined up, a cousin of a cousin, someone from Toussaint, and they thought she was safe from the burdens of her royal blood; it didn't work out the way they planned, court politics detaining her from time to time, but she was mostly free to live her life as a Witcher, only her Elder Blood causing problems now, problems she was keen to put right. But that was Ciri, champion of those forced into shit situations, Geralt could never fault his daughter for wanting to help those she saw herself in.

Heart heavy at the thought of being away from Jaskier for a moment longer, Geralt nodded. “Fine, we'll take the contract, deliver the Elder Blood to this tower, fight whatever we find there... and after it's done, I'm done. I'm retiring.” It was a decision he'd danced around for some time, after he began thinking of Corvo Bianco as his second home, somewhere he'd like to spend more time. Eskel and Lambert visited him there a lot over the years, it might as well be his home now, especially after Jaskier's health started to fade and he spent more and more time in the south. They only came back to Kaer Morhen for winters, _tradition_ , Jaskier said. And now, they returned for his last breaths...

Yes, after this, he was done. They save this navigator from the fate her own people cursed her to, and then he'd spend the next few days (weeks? hours?) at Jaskier's side. And when he was done... Geralt would lick his wounds and return south, a _retired_ Witcher, the first of his kind.

“What do we need?”

It was a simple job when they got down to it, brave the howling gales that buffeted the sea shore, Elder Blood to open the mystical lock, climb the tower, enter the portal, fight whatever guardian they found, and pull the sleeping navigator free. As soon as she set foot in this world, no longer locked in the space between realms, they were done, finished.

They all went, Lambert wanted to stay behind to guard Jaskier, but he was in good hands with Triss, and the unknown nature of what might guard the portal called for them all, Gynaevl really had no clue what they might face, it had been seven hundred years since anyone stepped foot near Rhena, and it would be seven hundred more if they didn't act quickly.

“The portal closes tomorrow at dawn,” Gynaevl said as they suited up, checking their armor. Geralt hated his armor almost as much as he hated his boots at the moment, just another layer of discomfort that kept him away from Jaskier, who was—

Eskel's firm hand slapped him on the shoulder. “Triss will portal us there, we do the job, then we're back in time to kiss him goodnight.”

Geralt tried to smile. “Yeah, no problem.”

They didn't reach the tower. It was right there in front of them, rain almost drowning them as they fought through the mud... but Jaskier took a turn and they had to go. Geralt would always go when Jaskier called him, even if the bard's own throat was too weak to do it. As he fell through the air, a fucking portal the only thing between him and crashing to his death on the sea rocks, Geralt only hoped some Witcher in seven hundred years time could fulfill the contract he failed on. But Jaskier was worth that failure, Jaskier was worth _everything_.

* * *

“Two days! It took me two fucking days to die! You didn't have to abandon a contract to sit at my side to watch!” Jaskier's shouts were so loud, the windows shook, books vibrating on their shelves.

“Jaskier—” Geralt said.

Thunderous blue eyes glared at him, silencing him. Fists balled at his sides, Jaskier shook from head to toe. “No, you don't get to interrupt. You thought my dying breath was more important than a woman's whole life?”

“Jaskier, we didn't know that, you could've—” Eskel tried, but got cut off as well.

“No!” he shouted again. “You didn't know when I was finally going to shuffle off is not an excuse! A seven hundred year curse, a chance to break it and you walk away? I'm not worth that! I died happy in my bed, and now there's someone out there who's been suffering because you came to see me! You're the ones who told me a Witcher always finishes his contract, a Witcher keeps his word, that's what we've been teaching your pups all these years, and now I find out that you three fucking didn't? What am I supposed to do with that?”

“It was a portal,” Lambert said. His eyes locked with Jaskier's, equally thunderous. “It wasn't just a tower, there was a portal. Not even to another world, fucking _between_ worlds. Time doesn't work there. If we went in, and came out and you were—” Lambert cut himself off, staggering back. His shoulders shook much like Jaskier's; they were all shaking, Geralt's muscles corded and twitchy, Eskel wringing his hands. There wasn't a calm body in the room, and they all watched each other as tension crackled through them.

Taking a breath, Lambert tried again. “If we came back to find you were already dead, that would've been worse,” he finally managed to say. Eyes rimmed in red met Jaskier's, boring into him. “I got to watch your last breath. We knew you went peacefully, and still, I almost threw myself on your pyre. If I thought you died alone, it would've been worse. I can forgive a fucked up contract. I would never forgive myself for missing your last breath.”

“You were dead,” Geralt said, stepping up and laying a hand on Lambert's shaking shoulder. Eskel came up on Lambert's other side and they held him together, the three of them against the world once again. “Your life was done. We were still here and we had to learn to live without you. It wasn't an easy thing.”

Jaskier understood, of course he did, he'd spent two life times with these men, sharing their joys and sorrow, their memories. There were still nights when Eskel or Lambert woke in a fright and clawed for him, whispering, “You were dead... you were dead and there was nothing I could do...” He didn't delude himself when it came to the weight of those memories or those traumas sitting upon the oh so tired shoulders of his Witchers.

But Jaskier was also the Continent's leading scholar _about_ Witchers, he had to be, when writing his books, he didn't just study his own journals and memories, but the works of the scholars who came before him, the Witchers who wrote about other Witchers, the record keepers from each school—Keldar, School of the Griffin was one of his favorites, such detailed notes, such care taken to preserve the lives and ways of Witchers. It was safe to say that only he and Eskel had read the whole of Kaer Morhen's library. And Jaskier knew a fucking lot about curses.

It was one of those research holes he fell down occasionally, looking up information on an old contract, a striga Geralt cured, other curses they all worked to lift. Most of them went off without a hitch because they were Witchers and were good at their jobs. The men who tried to do the same work weren't so lucky. Jaskier had read horror stories of knights who sought to rescue a princess shut away in a tower, only to find said princess was a child of the Black Sun, and have their hearts ripped out for their troubles. Mages—men and women who should damn well know to leave a curse alone—poked and prodded at amulets of great power, standing there one moment, vaporized to dust the next. Curses were nasty business, and now he just heard the three smartest, bravest men he knew, were foolish enough to take a job, and not complete it.

The pieces of the puzzle started assembling in Jaskier's mind, a puzzle he'd been working on longer than he cared to admit. Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert were exactly the same, all his memories, he saw their handsome faces just as he saw them now: frozen, unchanging. How many times had he run his fingers over their scars in his first life? He did so now as well, only the scars were all the same, he hadn't seen a new one in years. They were frozen, locked in time, and Jaskier finally, _finally_ knew why.

He shook his head, backing out of the room. “I need to take a walk.” He heard the heart wrenching whine bubbling up from them before they even did it, and he held up a hand for silence, looking up and meeting three sets of golden eyes. “I'm not leaving. Just need to take a walk, clear my head. I'll be back.”

Jaskier didn't look back as he left the house. He didn't answer the questions the boys shouted at him as he passed. He walked straight to the gates and opened them wide enough to slip through, then headed down the hill towards town. Normally, he'd take the car, drive through the still quaint little village settled below Corvo Bianco, but he needed to walk, needed to feel the ground under his feet as he went. The stretch in his muscles distracted him, just as the blood pumping through him helped him think.

He went to a little cafe he liked, ordered coffee and held the cup, letting the warmth bleed through to his fingers. He was alive and some woman, some poor Aen Seidhe navigator, reincarnated to help her people, was trapped gods knew where. And now his Witchers were cursed, and they didn't even know it. How did he explain? How to tell them their decision didn't just impact one woman, but all of them as well? How to explain the things that were so painfully clear to Jaskier, but he couldn't yet form into words.

He finished his coffee and sat for a while, trying to assemble the words. It was just like a story, a tale of three brave Witchers who set out to rescue a damsel, but got swept up in her troubles, all on account of their own painfully soft hearts.

* * *

It was dark when Jaskier walked back up the hill to Corvo Bianco. The gate was cracked open and his heart sighed at the sight. They never left the gate open like that, not unless Geralt was standing right there, scowling, waiting for a delivery of supplies for his latest renovation project. He retiled the bathhouse last year, replacing the neutral, clean white for multiple shades of blue, one shade that matched Jaskier's eyes almost perfectly. They had sex in the bathhouse every night for a week after that, strong hands holding him as tender as ever, all of them stopping every once in a while to lay a hand on Jaskier's jaw, and the other on a blue tile. “Perfect match,” Eskel whispered, kissing him. “Geralt has quite the eye...”

He made his way inside, closing the gate behind him. They would've heard that, and yet no one came running out to meet him. Jaskier said he needed to clear his head and they respected that. _Seven hundred years and they've learned their lessons_ , Jaskier thought, _well, almost all their lessons_.

The front hall was dark, save for the small table light still on in the living room, and the warm glow from the dining table beyond that. Jaskier smelled dinner—roast chicken and rosemary potatoes—and heard the soft clink of cutlery. No one spoke, after the day they all had, everyone was probably too emotionally exhausted to do much more than sit together. Jaskier frowned, knowing the pall over the house was mostly his doing... but he needed to think, put the pieces together. And now it was time to share his conclusions on the puzzle box they were all caught in.

Alvia spotted him as soon as he rounded the corner into the living room. “Jaskier!” Brown eyes went wide and she jumped from her chair, launching herself at Jaskier. He managed to kneel and catch her in a hug before the surprisingly solid Witcher-in-training collided with him and bowled him over. “You're back!” she mumbled into his shoulder. The girls were just hitting their growth spurts, soon they'd be as tall as Ciri.

“Of course. I was out for a walk, nothing more.” Vivi and Tessa jumped from their chairs too and ran to join the group hug. It was something Jaskier insisted on, even with the boys: children needed hugs to grow up right, even Witcher children. _Especially_ Witcher children.

Chairs scraped across the floor and the others gathered closer. Ciri wrapped her arms around Jaskier next, almost squishing the smaller girls. “I'm sorry,” she said, voice low.

Jaskier shook his head and squeezed her tight. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I didn't remember. I should have—”

Jaskier silenced her with a look. Retrieving lost memories was tricky at best. Even when he thought all his were back, others trickled in suddenly. He woke from a dream where a group of bandits grazed him with a knife, fingers clutching at a scar on his stomach that was no longer there. “It took me years to get all my old memories back, I don't expect you to do it overnight.” He gave Ciri another squeeze before letting her go, his eyes immediately finding Geralt's.

“I think we may have some apologizing to do,” Eskel said. He lingered by the table, the plate nearest to him almost untouched. Lambert and Geralt were standing closer, fidgeting a little under Jaskier's gaze, like they wanted to surge forward and hold him, but weren't sure they were allowed. They'd all had a few arguments over the years, they were better about it in Jaskier's second life, but it was never... today had been bad. And they all knew it.

Jaskier nudged the pups away and let his eyes meet one set of gold orbs after the other. “Yennefer, can you keep an eye on things for a moment?”

The sorceress was the only one not to stand and greet Jaskier, preferring to hang back at watch... it was her way. She nodded, dark curls swaying. “Yes. Then I believe we have some planning to do.”

Jaskier nodded and took Eskel's hand, trusting him to grab Geralt, who would in turn grab Lambert. He was silent as he led them to the bedroom and closed the door.

“Jaskier—” Geralt started to say, but fell silent when Jaskier lifted a hand.

There was a small desk in their room for marking, and an arm chair for more _entertaining_ activities; Jaskier pushed them towards the bed and pulled the arm chair in close. This sort of conversation required comfort. Once they were all settled, Jaskier moved in close so their knees touched, fingers tangling together. If there was one regret Jaskier had in life, it was that he did not have three hands to hold them all at once. With Lambert's right hand in his left, three of Geralt's thick fingers in his right, and Eskel's broad palm over the top of them all, it was the best he could do.

Jaskier took a deep breath. “I'm not angry. If I was about to lose any of you, I wouldn't make the best decisions either, and I'm not going to hold you responsible for things that happened centuries ago. That's not fair. Besides, I don't think I've ever been truly angry at any of you, it isn't worth it.” Squeezing their fingers tightly in his hands, Jaskier closed his eyes. “Has anyone else done the math?”

Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert released the collective breath they'd been holding all day, since Jaskier went out to _clear his head_. But another gasp of anxiety filled them at the question. “What do you mean?” Eskel asked. “Math... I don't...”

Eyes still closed, Jaskier lifted until their large hands brushed his forehead. He spent all day shifting through the pieces, trying to make it make sense another way, show him another picture. But there was only one solution to this. “The portal is only open every seven hundred years. You agreed to the contract, then left to tend to my death bed—” Lambert opened his mouth to defend their actions again, but a soft squeeze from Jaskier silenced him. “How many years ago was my first death?”

A tense silence filled the room as they all counted, reaching the exact same conclusion Jaskier had been dancing around all day long. Finally, after a few very long moments, Jaskier sighed and lifted his head, looking deep into golden eyes. “I think, I think we all bought ourselves a share in that curse. Rhena Saov is locked away, separated from time. I think we are to. You three stopped aging. I was already on the way out, no way to stop it, so I came back later, closer to the next window to break the curse.” Fuck, it was all so insane, and yet it was true. A promise once made needed to be fulfilled, and curses weren't limited by physical planes, they came for whoever they needed to come for; the Witchers gave their word, they entered into the contract, then broke it. That's all magic was, a contract between Chaos and the living beings too foolish not to leave it well enough alone.

“Ciri,” Geralt whispered. “She wasn't—”

“She brought Gynaevl fen Daetre to us, the Elder Blood was used to bind Rhena in the first place. Fuck.” Eskel squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to bite through his lip. How could he be so stupid, how could he not see? He was the one who kept track of their lives all these years, keeping Jaskier's journals safe, getting all their documents together to found this damn school, prove they were who they said they were. He had stacks and stacks of paperwork in the barn, the closest approximations he could get for Lambert's birth, Geralt's, his own, scraping together what little pieces of their past he could find, and he didn't even notice how long it had truly been since the first Jaskier... “Fuck,” he hissed.

“No.” Lambert pulled away, scooting back onto the bed, chest starting to heave. “No, that can't be. We stopped aging, yeah, but the contractor said she was locked in time. We're not frozen! We're not slumbering! That doesn't make any sense.”

Jaskier followed Lambert onto the bed, relieved when he didn't crawl farther away. Sliding his fingers under Lambert's shirt, Jaskier pushed it up, revealing a stomach with a layer of winter padding, but still strong, fluffy hair curling here and there. Lambert had a few scars across his gut, most were up higher on his chest, only a few nicks and grazes here. And that was the remarkable thing. “Geralt told me, decades ago, you came home for winter with your stomach torn open, held together by—”

“Tape.” Lambert swallowed, all the color drained from his face as he looked down at his stomach too. “I was so close. Already in Toussaint, there was a giant centipede, acid ate through my jacket... I was so damn close, I pushed to get here. To get back...”

That winter was the year Geralt banned talk of The Path while they rested. “I almost lost you,” he growled into Lambert's neck, fucking into him after he'd healed up. “I never want to see you hurt like that again. Never want to hear about it either.”

“Geralt, go easy on him,” Eskel sighed, holding Lambert in his lap as Geralt's hips snapped, desperate to feel Lambert's heat, his living body, not taken down by some stupid monster. It was close though, too close.

“No, he's—oh, fuck yes—he's right.” He remembered licking up the side of Geralt's face, savoring the sweat of exertion gathered there. “Mmm, please Geralt, harder.” He wanted to feel them, feel Geralt pushing into him, growling against his throat, especially after he came so close to never feeling them ever again...

Now, Lambert ran a hand over his stomach. Where there should be acid burns, there was hair, dark and curling over Jaskier's pale fingers. He should have one fuck of a scar and instead there was nothing.

“I've spent more than a hundred years kissing every scar you three have,” Jaskier said, fingers tangling with Lambert's. “I haven't seen a new one in a very, very long time. Not when a griffin slashed Eskel's arm, not when that stupid panther tried to claw Geralt for the remains of his kill. It's as if you've been frozen since the day I first died, and now we finally know why.”

Silence crept through the room again and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, tears prickling at the back of his eyes. All these years, Jaskier thought he had to face the fear of losing his Witchers—his children—whether to a beast, or another form of early death that plagued his strong monster hunters. He realized how foolish that was now. Humans were mortal, meant to die, it was the cycle of life and he shouldn't fear it, like he hadn't feared his own death the first time it came. He should fear the broken cycle his mates seemed to be trapped in, not aging, just existing, the shine of life tied to the mortals they attached themselves to, getting dimmer and dimmer as they continued on through time, unchanging. It was hell, and now all Jaskier wanted to do was pull them out of that hell. Another seven hundred years of them simply existing, waiting for him to come back... no, he couldn't do it.

Jaskier settled on top of Lambert, holding him tight, needing to feel his warmth. Geralt and Eskel leaned back as well, moving in close. Three hearts fell into the same rhythm, along with one moving a little faster. “Can you see now?” Jaskier mumbled into Lambert's collarbone, tilting a bit to invite Geralt and Eskel to touch him, hold him. They all needed to be held so very much right now. “Why I'm so frustrated by all this? You didn't just have to live beyond my death, you had to do so not knowing I'd come back. We didn't know, couldn't have known, if we'd see each other again... and I got to take a fucking short cut.”

Tears squeezed out the corners of his eyes and Jaskier sighed. “We didn't know, and you had to suffer by yourselves. No matter how long I have left in this life, I hate that you three had to face so many years without answers, never knowing why you were still alive.”

“You were a gift,” Geralt said. He said similar words to Yennefer years ago, newly reincarnated Jaskier staring in awe at the magic or Aretuza. Human reincarnation was unheard of, there was no reason for Jaskier to be... and yet, he was. “You were a gift, to get us back on track. Help us finish what we started.”

“We will finish it this time. We just need to find out what to do next.” Eskel was good when he had a plan, he saw a way forward. They'd dive into research, see if there was any other information on Rhena Saov, where she was kept, how to get to her, it all happened so fast all those years ago, stepping through a portal... they had to figure it out on their own now. But they'd do it, they'd fulfill their last contract.

“Not tonight.” Jaskier held them all so tight, letting the scent of their pack—his first pack, before the boys, the girls, before they had such a large family—surround him. “Tonight, we're going to go back out there and tell everyone it's going to be alright. Then, after dinner, we're going to make love. Tomorrow morning, we'll get to work.”

It took a few minutes to get themselves together. Lambert grabbed some lingering kisses, licking Jaskier's half-shed tears away, earning him a smile. They walked back out into the dining room arm in arm to find the boys pacing nervously, the girls bouncing off the walls... “Who wants ice cream?” Jaskier offered.

The house sprang into action, as it always did, Griffin, Clay, Dieter, Ollie, Strand, and Zander cleaning up the meal or getting the girls ready for bed before they were allowed their dessert. They all sprawled around the living room, talking about the day, what they expected to do in training tomorrow, what Lambert promised to teach them, what reading Eskel had planned.

More than once, Zander, or Griffin, or Clay leaned over to try and prod Jaskier. “What's happening? Today, when you, uh... went out, are you guys... okay?”

Jaskier tried very hard not to roll his eyes and patted his sons on the shoulders. “Don't you worry about us, think about how you're going to feel tomorrow morning when you have to run training at dawn.”

“Ugh, fuck, really?” Zander leaned back on the couch. “What happened to this winter rest period thing you all talk about?”

Lambert waggled an ice cream covered spoon at him. “Just because we're resting doesn't mean you get to slack off. I remember when...” The three oldest Witchers launched into story after story about Vesemir, nothing too dark, of course, not the stories of their youth, but of when the old man mellowed some and threw snowballs at them when he found them slacking.

Jaskier made sure to keep an eye on Yennefer as she lounged next to Ciri, trying to look aloof and above it all, but her brow was tighter than usual. Finally, she shook her head, muttering under her breath just loud enough for Jaskier to overhear. “Ciri's Elder Blood, that's why she's different than you. She had to come back whole: soul and body together, if not, it wouldn't work. And I missed it...”

She scowled and Jaskier almost wanted to reach over and pat her hand in sympathy, but he knew Yennefer was better keeping the company of her own thoughts. “Only two human reincarnations in history, I think you can forgive yourself for not knowing about previously unseen phenomena.” A small smile curved her lips, barely a smile, but it was a lot for Yennefer.

The hour grew late and everyone went to bed, Yennefer offered to take watch, a small knowing glimmer in her eye. “Thank you.” Jaskier wasted no time pulling Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert back into the bedroom, this time for something much more pleasurable than a talk of destiny and old heartache.

They made love all tangled together, no one really knowing where they ended and someone else began. A hand around Eskel's cock, lips sliding up Geralt's neck, panted, moaning breaths against Lambert's collarbone... Lambert finally rolled over and presented his ass, pushing his chest low against the bed sheets. Geralt stroked down his back and up through his hair, Eskel trailed his fingers over his stomach before teasing at his cock, and Jaskier knelt behind him, bottle of lube in hand.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he whispered as he opened Lambert up, slowly, giving more care than usual. They were old pros at this and usually rabid to feel each other's touch, but after today... Yes, more care was needed, time to slow down and really appreciate what they had. It wasn't some cosmic quirk of the universe that brought Jaskier back, it was Destiny, and she had a plan for them all, a plan they failed at seven hundred years ago. They had to get it right this time, Jaskier would not see them doomed to walk the earth like this again, frozen, lost, he'd do everything in his power to make sure they got it right this time.

But those thoughts could wait until tomorrow. Jaskier thrust in, pulling beautiful moans and pants from Lambert as Geralt and Eskel growled softly, nipping at him, heightening their pleasure. After Lambert came moaning on Jaskier's cock, Eskel and Geralt cradled them both, sticky skin sliding against his as they watched Lambert float away on waves of bliss.

Tonight was for love, remembering what they still had together and why it would take more than a contract seven centuries ago to tear them apart. Tomorrow, the real work began.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When Geralt brought you to me, asked me to confirm reincarnation, I told him he needed to figure out why you were here, because I would not watch him lose you again in a hundred years time. We'd both lost and found Ciri so many times back then, and your death was almost as bad for him. He didn't speak to anyone for years, none of them did. Geralt went back down to Corvo Bianco and hid himself away, then emerged and started taking contracts again. Eskel never stopped hunting, decimating the wyvern population for decades to come, and Lambert spent the next three years drinking, until Geralt and Eskel got him sober for a bit. Triss wouldn't speak of it either, the portal she sent to get them, where it was, nothing. We all knew talk of you would push them back into their shells again and we left it alone. Surely you of all people can't blame me for not asking questions in order to give them some peace?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has another flashback to the past where Jaskier is old and on his deathbed. I don't show his first death in this chapter, but it's heavily implied, and there's a lot of talk of the grief the others felt. If this is too much, maybe come back another time <3

Immortals weren't hard to come by, at least in Jaskier's experience. Between Geralt, Eskel, Lambert, and Yennefer, Jaskier knew most of the immortal beings on the Continent, had heard their stories of the centuries gone by and reveled in the beautiful details contained in their memories. And yet, none of them seemed to have a fucking clue what happened seven hundred years ago exactly. They could tell him what happened _about_ seven hundred years ago, but the year he died, and a few years afterwards were... fuzzy.

“We tried not to think about it,” Geralt said as they poured through the library. The one book on reincarnation, the book they'd all read cover to cover by now, sat on the table next to a few volumes about the Aen Seidhe and how they came to this world. Jaskier thought of calling his father, or even his sister-in-law, getting more information that way, but he didn't want to panic his parents. They didn't need to know the Witchers he shared his life with were literally cursed, not just figuratively cursed by the prejudice they still faced. His family had enough to worry about without Jaskier bringing the drama of Destiny back to their door. He'd tell them one day... not now, though.

“You don't even remember where you were sent? The contractor must have given details...” Jaskier asked. He pulled out a few old maps of the Continent, scanning them over for any terrain like what they describe, what he saw in Geralt's memory.

Between looking through books and training, Ciri wracked her brain, trying to settle into meditation to draw the memories out. “Nothing!” she growled, bashing her hands against her knees in frustration. Though she couldn't heal through meditation like they did, Geralt insisted on teaching her the same as in her first life, the same as they trained all the young Witchers in their charge. Eskel was a master of meditation and Ciri excelled in his classes, but she preferred to work with Jaskier when retrieving her old memories, he was the only one who truly knew what it was like to feel you'd seen the world before through different eyes. Yet the memories of their last contract wouldn't come.

“I was there! I remember meeting Gynaevl. He tracked me down when I was on Skellige seeing—” A fierce blush stole across her cheeks, one Jaskier recognized as a memory of Cerys an Crate making itself known. At seventeen (almost eighteen) Ciri was just a little younger than he was when past memories started returning, he remembered the inappropriately sexual ones jumping to the head of the queue.

He cleared his throat, chasing away his own memories of her father and uncles ravaging him in the morning before training when they were all at Kaer Morhen together. “Ciri's waiting,” he moaned as Eskel's lips pressed over his, Geralt's teeth nipping his thigh.

“Geralt's spawn can wait her turn...” Lambert growled back as he slid down to swallow Jaskier's cock.

Jaskier shook himself again. “It's alright, Ciri, you don't have to remember everything.”

“But I was there! I should bloody well remember _something_!” She growled again before closing her eyes. If anyone could meditate angrily, it was Ciri, and Jaskier left her to it.

Yennefer was strangely silent as they poured through all their resources. She wasn't there with them all those years ago, but she did stop by to pay her respects as soon as Jaskier arrived at Kaer Morhen for the last time, her heart not truly in it as they sniped back and forth, a tradition by that time, no actual malice behind it.

In the quiet of the second afternoon they spent tracing down contacts—Eskel even called some of the government people on his list, searching for maybe a protected historical site on the coast that contained a mysterious tower, the Continent was full of places like that, but no luck—Jaskier sat down next to Yennefer on the couch. It was just them, Ciri was outside with Geralt and the girls, working through some tension with their swords, and Jaskier sent Eskel and Lambert to the bathhouse out back to relieve some of their tension in a different way. He promised to join them later, but first...

“You know,” Jaskier said lightly, turning the page of the book in his hands (a volume on portals, specifically tracing the magical signature they leave; probably wouldn't work after seven hundred years, but it was something). “You were there. Not at Kaer Morhen, but you were around. You've had a standing meeting with Geralt every year for the last six hundred or so. Surely he mentioned where they went?” The location was the fuss. Where was Rhena bound? If the tower existed on this plane, it still had to be there, the curse froze them all in time, it had to freeze the location as well or the whole thing was useless. Somewhere on this fucking Continent, there was a muddy hillside slicked with rain, and a crumbling tower with a light at the top. They just had to find it. Then they could get back to their lives. At least, Jaskier hoped that's how it went. He wasn't willing to do this for another seven hundred years, or watch them carry on alone, waiting for him to reincarnate again.

Yennefer did not lift her gaze from the manuscript spread across her lap, also about portals, but written in some sort of sorcerer short hand he couldn't make heads or tails of. She sighed, lips turning down more than usual. “Yes, I was there. But we didn't speak about your passing. You know as well as I do that I was more than willing to pick at a wound, but your death...” She pressed her lips together and finally looked up at him, violet eyes meeting blue.

“When Geralt brought you to me, asked me to confirm reincarnation, I told him he needed to figure out why you were here, because I would not watch him lose you again in a hundred years time. We'd both lost and found Ciri so many times back then, and your death was almost as bad for him. He didn't speak to anyone for years, none of them did. Geralt went back down to Corvo Bianco and hid himself away, then emerged and started taking contracts again. Eskel never stopped hunting, decimating the wyvern population for decades to come, and Lambert spent the next three years drinking, until Geralt and Eskel got him sober for a bit. Triss wouldn't speak of it either, the portal she sent to get them, where it was, nothing. We all knew talk of you would push them back into their shells again and we left it alone. Surely you of all people can't blame me for not asking questions in order to give them some peace?”

Jaskier nodded. That sounded like them, down to the last detail, Geralt throwing himself into the vineyard, something for him to care for, build up; Eskel would never stop hunting, the methodology of it giving him peace; and Lambert... he'd spoken of old addictions and Jaskier fully knew he was one of them. That he might have to push them back to that dark place...

He wanted to look away so Yennefer didn't see the tears rimming the edges of his eyes, but her gaze pulled him in. Yennefer never lied, but she wasn't exactly straight with people, and never with Jaskier; for the first time, he got the feeling that she wasn't concealing anything. He thought he should return the favor. “I know, which is why it breaks my heart that I have to ask. I will not watch them watch me die again, knowing this will happen once more in seven hundred years. They've marched through time thinking there was no end for them. They endured pain they shouldn't have, and it makes me sick to think it'll just keep happening again and again if we don't do something about it. So you understand why I want to get it right this time.”

“I do.” They both looked back at their work, pretending they didn't see the sadness written across each other's faces, Jaskier's tears, and Yennefer's wet eyes. “I wish I could help more, I really do. I don't want to see them in pain either.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier said. They went back to their research, but Jaskier couldn't concentrate. Putting the book back on the pile with the others, he got up and made his way out to the bathhouse.

He opened the door to find exactly what he hoped to see: Eskel lounging back in the big tub, Lambert on his chest, the younger Witcher gently lapping and kissing wherever he could. Eskel cracked one eye open and smiled when he saw Jaskier, then went back to his relaxing, gentle fingers carding through Lambert's hair.

Jaskier watched, cock hardening in his pants, as Lambert licked over Eskel's adam's apple then made his way down, nibbling at his collarbone before reaching his true prize: Eskel's thick tits. He licked between them, moaning into the strong muscles, before sliding his lips over to one dark pink nipple, soft and relaxed with the heat of the room. It didn't stay that way for long, reacting to Lambert's tongue as he licked over it, finally sucking the bud into his mouth and nipping just enough to make Eskel hiss in pleasure.

Oh, the sight was too good, but Jaskier wanted more, he wanted to feel Eskel under him. Stripping his clothes, he walked into the bathhouse properly and stopped at the edge of the large tub. “Room for one more?” Lambert, who'd been working Eskel's other nipple with his fingers, opened his eyes and smiled up at Jaskier, moving over in the bath to give him room.

Sliding into the almost too hot water was a special kind of bliss and Jaskier groaned, tugging softly at his cock before taking his spot against Eskel's chest. A large arm wrapped around his hips and pulled him close before Eskel relaxed back again, moaning softly when Jaskier's tongue and lips started taking care of the other side.

“Mmm, fuck.” Two mouths at his chest, two hands below the water tangling together as they both tried to stroke his cock, Eskel groaned, bumping his head against the padded lip of the tub. “You two... trying to kill me?”

“Mm—yes,” Jaskier mumbled, sucking harder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lambert do the same, their hands under the water finally figured themselves out, he cupped Eskel's balls while Lambert stroked his beautiful cock. Trailing his finger back until he found Eskel's hole, Jaskier circled his finger around it until—

“Fuck!” Eskel jerked, spilling into the bath. He fell back like his strings had been cut and Jaskier and Lambert reluctantly stopped their ministrations, sucking bites replaced with soft kitten licks. “You two... damn it.”

The door opened again and Geralt walked in, his eyes lighting up when he saw them all, probably smelled the cloud of _fuck_ on the air as well. “You know I hate it when you start without me.” He climbed in as well, gathering Lambert to his chest and holding him on display for Jaskier and Eskel to watch as he took the prickly wolf apart, sinking his teeth into his shoulder, holding him still. Lambert growled and sighed as Geralt's hands touched him, reaching between his legs to circle his hole, lightly palming at his cock... Jaskier made himself comfortable against Eskel's chest and watched the show, the best in town if you asked him.

While he wanted to be happy and content in the arms of his lovers, his _mates_ , the dark thoughts in the back of his head were still there, lurking. Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert would rather skirt around the fog of depression they were clearly mired in back then, and Jaskier would sooner hurt himself than hurt them again... So that's what he had to do.

Focusing on Eskel once again, Jaskier kissed and rubbed against him, Lambert and Geralt's soft kisses and happy moans music to their ears. Listening to Lambert come on Geralt's fingers was an almost magical sound and Jaskier couldn't get enough of it. Eskel brought him off a moment later, Geralt soon after, leaving them all relaxed and sated for the moment...

A harsh knock against the bathhouse door roused them from their peace. “Are you four eating dinner tonight? Better hurry.” Zander's voice shouted through the door. After they graduated, the boys all asked if they had bathhouse privileges now... then quickly retracted their request when Clay put together what their fathers got up to in the hot water. So instead they stood outside and shouted for them, desperately trying to forget when they all saw the giant four man tub and realized exactly why it was that large.

Taking one last moment to kiss and cuddle, they got out of the water and went back into the house for dinner. Jaskier tried to push his plans to the back of his mind and be happy with his family for the moment. His sadness could wait until tonight.

* * *

Jaskier waited until he heard three matching snores shaking the bed before he made his move. While he was adept at getting out of bed without disturbing the pile of sleeping wolves, tonight he situated himself on the outside of the mattress to make his escape that much easier. He wasn't... he didn't need to do this in secret, he'd tell them all tomorrow, this just felt like the sort of task one needed to do in the dead of night. Slipping into a pair of warm pajamas, he put on his slippers and wrapped one of his silk robes tight around his body before he made his way through the warm house, out into the cold night, down into the climate controlled storage under the house.

It was Eskel, of course it was, who really explained why they seemed less than helpful, his words confirming Yen's assumption. “We want to figure this out too, find that fucking tower, climb through a portal and be done with it. But...” His arms tightened around Jaskier's hips, holding him so tight it almost hurt while the others walked into the house to help with dinner. Lips kissed up his neck and Jaskier felt tears against his cheek. “Losing you hurt us all, I still have nightmares about—”

“Shh, I know.” Yes, Jaskier knew. At least once every autumn, they all shook awake, shouting for him, for each other, their eyes wild until they spotted a kind face to soothe them back to sleep. Jaskier knew all too well about their nightmares, and he hated being the source of some. “Just because you've mastered some emotions doesn't mean I expect you to master them all, not even you.” He turned in Eskel's arms and pressed kisses all over his face. “I won't push. I'll find another way. We will figure this out.”

Eskel buried his face in Jaskier's neck and breathed in his scent for a long moment. When he collected himself, they went back into the dining room and ate their dinner, like nothing had happened.

Jaskier made his way down to the vault that contained his journals. Over the years since he started writing his histories of the Continent, it became more his space than Eskel's, but he appreciated the work the Witcher had done cataloging all the journals, putting them in their proper order, it made them invaluable as research tools... And yet there was one journal Jaskier hadn't opened again, and as far as he knew, Eskel hadn't either. Amongst all his meticulous notes, some also marked with Geralt or Lambert's writing, this particular journal only had one small note, just three words.

_The last journal._

Turning on the dim lights, Jaskier made his way over to the last stack and pulled the pristine storage container from its home, setting it out on the table before plucking a pair of clean white gloves from where Eskel stored them. He took a moment to caress the cover, almost as perfect as it looked when he bought it. It made a strange sort of sense: his last journal was the most recent of the lot, and given it wasn't opened as much as the others, it would be in the best condition, the binding didn't even show any signs of wear. The last time capsule of Jaskier's first life and he finally had to open it.

The binding crinkled as he did, and the smells of the old leather and vellum swirled around him. He could afford good journals towards the end of his life, not the wood pulp paper and rag fiber he had when he was first starting out; most of Jaskier journals and composition books were made from whatever material he could lay his hands on (or had enough gold for) at the time. Add in Eskel's masterful preservation efforts, and this journal was more than pristine, it was almost new. After all, Jaskier only used it the once, on his last trip to Kaer Morhen.

He gently flipped to the correct page and closed his eyes, letting the familiar smells of vellum and ink fill his senses, bringing those long ago memories to the fore. Jaskier was an expert at calling his memories back, examining them, studying them for the different Continental histories he worked on, but the thoughts of his death... he didn't enjoy reliving those. But now he must, for the good of them all. Breathing deep, Jaskier opened the vault of his memory and let them pour out.

* * *

It was fucking embarrassing is what it was, Jaskier insisted on going to Kaer Morhen one last time. “Corvo Bianco is warmer,” Geralt said. “You'll be more comfortable.” Neither of them said for what. Geralt could smell the death on him, not a sickness, Jaskier was healthy for his age, but he was done, he knew this down in his bones, and he wanted to return to Kaer Morhen one last time.

But he couldn't make it up the fucking mountain. Triss was nearby and portaled them up, staying herself. “I've missed that famous Wolf School hospitality,” she joked. Jaskier saw right through it. Geralt smelled death on him, but Triss probably saw it as a ticking clock over his head, and she wanted to be there with him, for them all.

Jaskier wanted to spend his final days in comfort, surrounded by friends and lovers, taking long, luxurious dips in the hot springs. And so he did, but his back ached, and he was cold all the time, not even all three of them pressed into bed with him managed to banish the chill completely. He didn't care. Corvo Bianco was his home with Geralt, they'd been resting there together for years now, enjoying a quite life with a few jobs Jaskier was too weak to follow on, but Kaer Morhen was the place where Jaskier's life—his true life, fucking in blissful love with three Witchers—began, and it's where he wanted it to end.

“We'll stay by your side, promise,” Eskel whispered, lips brushing against his cheek as they both watched Lambert and Geralt in front of the fire. They pulled an old arm chair from somewhere in the castle and Geralt sat himself down, one hand on the back of Lambert's head as it bobbed, the soft sucking such a familiar sound.

Eskel's hand found Jaskier's cock under the blankets, fingers touching so delicately, like he would break apart at any moment. Jaskier felt the heat pool in his gut, but the flesh did not cooperate. He shook his head. “I want you to enjoy yourselves.” Eskel nodded and stripped, rubbing his hard cock against Jaskier's leg before wrapping a hand around himself and stroking in time with Lambert's movements.

They all came and Jaskier smiled, he liked seeing them happy and together, even after all these years. They kissed him and promised soup after he had a nap. “Tired you out, I can tell,” Geralt said.

Jaskier slipped off to sleep and awoke a few hours later to find them gone, Triss sitting by the fire with a book. Gentle brown eyes smiled up at him. “You're awake.”

“Yes, still here.” Jaskier tried to sit up and Triss was there, helping, adjusting his pillows. “Where are they?”

She frowned, not actually sad, more perturbed they weren't here themselves to tell Jaskier. “Ciri's here, she brought an elf with a contract. Sounds like a big one, she wants them all to go.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier hummed, reaching out for his journal. Brand new, bought in Ban Ard before they reached the foot of the mountain. He knew this would be his last trip and he wanted to record some of it, whether anyone would look at it was another matter, maybe Geralt, or Eskel... It was silly, but he wanted to write anyway, record his thoughts, memories, for someone in the far off future. That's what he hoped at least. “Go on. Why would Ciri be interested?” As Triss spoke, he began to scribble down the tale, the old voice in the back of his head whispering, _this will be a fine ballad_.

Triss sighed, but humored him anyway. Yes, the old man who didn't have much time left and just wanted for one last story. She'd give it to him, she was good like that. “Aen Seidhe, name of Gynaevl fen Daetre—”

“Mmm, Behind the Meadow of Ice. Have to love the Aen Seidhe, they truly know how to give a good, strong name.”

Triss laughed softly, then continued. “Apparently his family used the Elder Blood to lock away the navigator known as Rhena Saov. He's trying to get her back, approached Ciri to use her Elder Blood, needs Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert to do the actual leg work.”

Jaskier stopped writing. “Rhena Saov? Why does that name ring a bell?” A dim bell, to be sure, but all Jaskier's thoughts were dim these days, he tired so easily. If his Elder was correct (as it was, he'd brushed up the past few years, as study was the only safe activity for his old bones) she was the Spirit Queen, and the Light of Many Worlds. A hell of a title, even for the Aen Seidhe.

“I'm impressed, not many would recognize her name. The humans consider her a prophet of the elves, but the Aen Seidhe know her to be a navigator.”

“Navigator...” Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut, recalling Geralt's stories from so long ago, hopping portal after portal, trying to find Ciri, bring her home. “I thought all the navigators were Ael Elle? Using their powers to conquer and whatnot?”

“I guess Rhena was the only Aen Seidhe navigator, the first to be able to control portals for their cause. The power shrinks her long life, though, she's reincarnated every other century to help her people. Or that's how it was.”

“Before she was locked away.” Yes, Jaskier could see the story unfolding in front of him: a gifted prophet traveling between worlds to serve her people, until the power became a risk—as it always does—and then some unfortunate decision was made in haste and error. Yes, a classic tragedy if he'd ever seen one. “And now they need three Witchers to set her free? And the Lady of Time and Space? My, my, sounds like a doozie...”

Triss laughed again and Jaskier smiled, giving a bit of a wink too. While he didn't try to charm everyone around him, even at the age of ninety-five, it still oozed out. And making a young woman smile and laugh (yes, she was older than him, but he looked like death so yes, she was _young_ ) stirred the old dandy in him. In another life, maybe he would've fallen for a nice sorceress instead of his wolves.

“Ciri isn't going, just Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert. All they need is the Elder Blood, not the body its contained in. But they don't know what could be waiting for them when they try to free Rhena, so they're taking no chances. There's a guardian of some sort.”

“And where, my dear, are they going? Is this prophet locked away somewhere nearby?”

“The portal to get to her is on Spikeroog.”

Jaskier almost dropped his pen, eyes wide as he stared at Triss. “And how the ever loving fuck are they getting to Spikeroog?”

“Portal.”

He shook his head and finished the line, making a few more notes for a ballad he'd never finish... he could try, while he waited for them. “Two portals, my poor wolves, they'll be beside themselves.” It took another moment for Jaskier to realize... He looked up, meeting Triss' beautiful brown eyes, his own a little dimmer now, but still he saw her, bright and radiant as ever. “You're here to watch me. Let them know if...”

“Yes,” she said, voice barely a whisper. “They'll be with you until the end, you all know that. But Ciri needs them too... they're very torn about it.”

Jaskier could only imagine, it must've taken an hour to get Lambert out of the bed where he'd curled at Jaskier's side, refusing to leave, like a grumpy cat in a warm spot. None of them had worn proper armor in weeks, this contract was going to be a lot for them, but if Ciri asked, they would help. At their core, they were loyal to every member of their family, not just Jaskier. “They needn't be,” he said finally. “I will be here waiting for their return.”

By the time he put the last touches on his ballad (more of a poem, his lungs weren't strong enough to sing) they all bustled in, kissing him before they headed out. They looked beautiful in their armor, as young and handsome as when he first met them. Though his body was far too tired, there was a heat under Jaskier's skin that he knew very well.

Geralt smirked when he smelled Jaskier's lust, weaker now that he was... “We'll be back. And if anything happens, Triss can portal us out. We'll be with you in a heartbeat.”

“Go,” Jaskier said, kissing Geralt again and again. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you'll return to me. I love you, I love you, I love you.” They all took their time kissing him, then left. He felt the portal open somewhere in the castle below him, the walls vibrating with the power of it. Jaskier closed his eyes and settled in for a nap.

When he opened them again, they were back, dirty and wet from the rain, all of them so close to him now. Oh? Was it time then, well alright... Jaskier supposed there were worse ways for a life to end than with Geralt's of Rivia's lips against yours...

* * *

Jaskier opened his eyes, staggering under the weight of the memory. “Spikeroog,” he whispered to himself, shaking with the cold sweat the beaded on his skin, soaking through his clothes. The journey back up to the house wouldn't be pleasant, but they had their answer. Rhena Saov—the elf locked in time, the curse that spread from her house to theirs—was on Spikeroog.

His fingers were shaking too much to put the journal away, he'd apologize to Eskel later for leaving the vault in such a state, Jaskier just needed to see them, feel them. He stumbled out of the vault and back up the stairs, probably waking half the house as his feet made far too much noise. Golden eyes were barely opening when Jaskier fell into the bed, lips trembling as he kissed them. “Spikeroog.”

“Spikeroog?” Geralt repeated. He slid his hands over Jaskier, frowning at the sweat covering him. “Jaskier, what—”

“The Aen Seidhe, Rhena, she's on Spikeroog.” He tried to strip his sodden clothes and kiss Geralt at the same time, feel the heat he knew so well and now needed.

Strong hands grabbed him around the hips as Eskel pulled him into the center of the bed. Holding Jaskier's face between his large hands, he studied the human's eyes. He'd seen the far away look Jaskier got when he spelunked deep into his his memories, smelled the cold sweat on him that came from almost losing himself in the past. “Fuck, Jaskier, did you—”

“I couldn't ask you to relive your pain, I never want to do that to you. I'll tell you more in the morning, just—please.” Please _what_ , Jaskier didn't need to say, they already knew what he needed: to be held close, kissed, loved. The ache knowing they were lost and alone for so long never truly went away, and the reason why didn't make it better; of course it was magic, the only thing that consistently fucked up their lives. But they could fix it now, they could make it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use Netflix Triss, because I like her better. Game Triss is... yeah, I just like Netflix Triss. I use mix and match canon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier smiled, so many years and they were still learning lessons about their emotions. “Doesn't matter how long you've been apart, you still care about them. In fact, I remember a certain Witcher who planned his route so he could meet up with his brothers at least once a year.”
> 
> Eskel's arm did not hide the blush now staining his cheeks. Oh yes, Jaskier remembered bumping into Eskel on The Path several times. He always thought it sweet the way they worried about each other, how they now worried about their boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer, it has some more plot, and a lot of fluff. They still have to live their lives after all, even with Destiny breathing down their necks. And I really enjoy showing how the world has changed, this is the modern Continent after all, let's see some more of it. (Also Eskel deserved some spoiling.)
> 
> Enjoy.

Mud squelched under Geralt's boots as he peered around for a stump or a rock to sit on, but this barren hillside—like most other barren hillsides—lacked convenient, mud free places to wait while Yennefer scowled at the map in her hands.

“Damn it!” she finally shouted, balling up the paper and setting it on fire. The ash floated through the air and Geralt waited until it dissipated completely before speaking.

“What's wrong with this location?”

She turned, lip curling a little the way it only did when they were alone. There were so many years behind them, too many arguments and fights, Geralt knew when Yennefer was actually angry at him and when she was simply frustrated and he was the only soul around to share in her emotions. This was the latter situation. “Spikeroog. He said the tower was on Spikeroog, but as you and I just found out, there is no crumbling, mystically sealed tower anywhere on this fucking island!”

And boy, had they checked. Geralt spent all morning popping through portals, his stomach in knots by now, just wishing for an end. Yet every cliff they found, every hidden stretch of land too impassable for even modern vehicles they searched, there was no crumbling tower. Geralt peered around, the cliff side looked right, as did the sea below, although the weather was much better this time around, especially for a Skelligen winter. The wind whipped, sending Yen's skirt fluttering, but other than the chill, it was fine, nothing like the night Geralt tried not to think about.

But he had to think about it now, the night they lost Jaskier, it was important, possibly the key to ending whatever sort of accidental curse they ended up with. At least they were in it together. Eskel and Lambert couldn't make fun of the White Wolf for blundering in by himself, as they were very much along for the blunder this time.

Taking a deep breath, Geralt closed his eyes. The muddy hill, the crack of lighting above their head, the rain that stung like weather never had before, his whole body a raw nerve that just wanted to be by Jaskier's side again... Geralt opened his eyes. The cliff they jumped over, this was it, a little more worn away by time, but as someone who'd jumped off a lot of things he shouldn't have, Geralt definitely remembered vaulting through the air into a portal.

“This is it,” he called.

Yen turned around and scowled. “How? There's no tower. There's no tower on this whole fucking island!” Pressing a palm against her forehead, the day was getting to her too. Normally Geralt would go to her, lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, but he couldn't, he had to concentration.

He closed his eyes and saw the cliff side, then the tower. Turning on the spot, he looked at the wide, empty cliff. A heavy cold seeped into his skin, and not from the wind, it was the sort of cold so deep, even the memory of it pierced through him. “This is it. This is the spot.” Not thinking, muscles moving automatically, Geralt stepped forward, climbing the hill.

Half way up the hill, he froze, foot hanging in the air. This _was_ it, the exact spot he was standing when Triss called them back. This was the farthest point he'd reached on the contract and now he could go no farther, an invisible force holding him back...

Stepping away, Geralt took a moment to breath, pleased Yen stayed quiet while he... figured out what the fuck was happening. “This is it,” he said again. “I've stood on this cliff.” He _jumped_ off this cliff. “Jaskier said the curse is time locked? Separated from the normal flow of the world? Maybe the tower is locked away too.”

Yennefer nodded, staring out at the barren cliff. “So it might only appear when the time is right? It makes sense... and makes it fucking hard to pinpoint.”

“I remember the date.” They still weren't talking about _those_ years, the dark well that sucked them all in. They all had their dark spots they refused to talk about, Lambert just before the intervention, Eskel the years he devoted to trying to preserve what he could of Kaer Morhen only to have it crumble before him, unsalvageable, and Geralt had a bad spell after the final Roach passed, the last piece of his old life finally gone. But they all had a black cloud hovering over Jaskier's death, and Yennefer didn't taunt their grief, not even now.

“It's—” Geralt's lips parted, eyes going wide. “We have to go home.”

Yennefer opened a portal and Geralt walked through it without even a blink. All day, as they traveled around the island, he groaned and sighed, wrinkled his nose and nearly whined at every portal she tried to get him to walk through, yet he did this one without a thought. Oh, she could not wait to hear this...

The portal opened in the library, throwing Jaskier's papers through the air, bringing a scowl to his pretty face. As soon as he saw Geralt, he opened his mouth to ask a dozen questions—did they find it? was it over? could the get back to their lives now?—but Geralt got there first. “Jaskier, when's your birthday?” Geralt knew the answer, but he needed to be sure.

The question gave Jaskier pause. “End of Velen.”

Swallowing heavily, Geralt whispered, “Do you remember when you... the date. The date you... died.”

The whole library went still, Stranden and Clay shelving books on the other end of the room, Vivi working on her beasts reading at the study table, even Ciri, deep in meditation, opened her eyes.

Standing from his chair, Jaskier walked over to Geralt, taking large, scarred hands in his. “Autumn, I think.” He trailed his thumbs over the back of Geralt's hands, his voice low and soothing; they didn't talk about this, not at all, and here Geralt was, saying the words... “It was still warm, but there was a nip in the air at night, felt like—” His jaw dropped open suddenly, then snapped shut.

“The end of Velen,” Geralt finished for him. Jaskier's first death and his second birth happened on the same day. It was like Destiny was pointing a giant arrow at them, an arrow they hadn't seen for seven hundred years.

“Well...” Jaskier's lips moved a little, trying to form words and finding none. Finally, he shook his head. “At least... now we know.” So the loves of both his lives would depart two days before his birthday to break a millennia old curse, unsure if they would face some beast of a guardian or find their way free and clear, unsure of... practically everything. Wasn't that just far too much?

Luckily, Jaskier was good at handling _far too much_ , they all were, between training, his writing, composing, convincing Geralt the house didn't need another wing, and the every day chores of their lives, they were all masters of multitasking. Bowing his head for a moment, he leaned against Geralt's chest before straightening up and smiling. “Looks like we have some time on our hands.”

“That's it?” Stranden growled. All eyes snapped to him. “They're cursed! And we're just gonna wait?”

“We have to wait,” Geralt said. “That's how curses work, you have to follow the rules.” Part of him regretted telling the boys about the whole situation, but they were full grown Witchers now, they had to know; they could coddle them in so many ways, giving them enough provisions and resources to do their jobs without fear, never being more than a phone call away... but when it came to their jobs—their calling—they had to know the score, always.

Stranden opened his mouth to argue, only to have Jaskier step in. “Seems like library duty isn't challenging enough for you. Go run the walls. You and Clay.”

“Hey, what did I do?” Clay asked.

But Jaskier was having none of it. “You want to be Witchers, you spend a winter like Witchers, walls, now. I want four laps.” There were no tricks and traps around Covor Bianco's walls, but the phrase was so deeply ingrained in their minds, even Jaskier's, sending them down to the obstacle course didn't have the same punch. But they knew what the command meant and they shuffled off, grumbling a little as they went.

Vivi popped up from her chair and ran after them, grabbing Ciri and towing her along as usual. “Wait for us!”

Once the library was clear, Jaskier pressed himself against Geralt's chest like he wanted to, squeezing with all his strength. “I hate that we have to wait so long...”

“But we have to,” Geralt finished for him. “Come on, we'll tell you the whole thing.”

They sat down on the couch, Geralt's arm around Jaskier's shoulders as they spoke. Yennefer continued to pace the library, unable to be still. “The window might only be open for a day, we have to be precise and plan accordingly. Elder Blood from Ciri, we'll figure out what beings can even live between dimensions like that, see what you might come up against.”

They let her go for a minute, planning mostly to herself. Part of it was her own frustration, as the oldest, and most powerful mage on the Continent, how had she missed such a curse? It should be pouring off Geralt and the others in waves of Chaos, but they were just... normal. For Witchers. If she wasn't so distracted by Jaskier's reincarnation—the truly impossible thing, or so she thought—and then Ciri, she might've seen it.

Finally, Jaskier got to his feet and brought her to a stop with a light hand on her shoulder. “We have more than enough time to get it right, I have no doubt you'll all figure it out.”

“I won't let them watch you die again,” she said, loud enough for Geralt to hear.

Jaskier smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. “And you think I will? Oh no, my dear sorceress, we're getting it right this time, if I have to climb that tower myself.”

“You won't have to,” Geralt said. “We won't fail again.” He tried to keep it hidden, they all did, the war inside their minds: their suffering from their inexplicably long life dragged them down, causing pain and misery with no end in sight... and yet, the happiness of seeing Jaskier again, living another life with him, a longer one this time, was almost worth that suffering. How could they break the curse that gave them the greatest gift? Like most contracts a Witcher turned their skills to, this one was terrible and joyous in equal measure, and they did not like it.

“I know you won't,” Jaskier whispered back.

They left Yennefer to it. Jaskier could talk Geralt or Eskel out of obsessing over a project, but he had no such power when it came to Yennefer. She quickly rounded up all the books they had, maps of Skellige, a small notebook filled with their recollections of the old contract, and spirited them all away to her room. A portal rumbled upstairs and she was gone, probably to check what information Aretuza would have, as if she hadn't looked already.

Jaskier understood, it involved her daughter, and her oldest acquaintances—Jaskier wouldn't call Geralt her friend, that was a limb too thin to hold anyone—there was a fear there. Near immortal beings weren't used to fear, not like this. She needed something to do, so they'd let her do it.

Geralt gave him one last squeeze before they walked outside to see the training group. Zander was working with the Tessa and Alvia on hand to hand under Lambert's watchful eye; Geralt heard the sounds of Vivi, Stranden, Clay, Ciri, and Griffin down on the obstacle course, Eskel shouting at them to watch their hand holds better; Dieter and Ollie were mucking about in the forge, trying to make sense of the armor diagrams Eskel painstakingly copied decades ago, probably time for a new set if they could barely read them... Yes, this was his family, this was his life, they had to keep living it while they waited for Destiny to set them on their marks, and they'd continue living as they always had before.

Brushing their shoulders together one last time, Geralt went to supervise the work in the forge before they blew themselves up. All the boys were solid Witchers, but they were still getting the hang of other skills. They had time, nothing but time.

Jaskier gave them a wave and went back inside, towards the bedroom where he could get a little quiet. His publisher wanted a book tour for his newest work and he'd been putting it off while they figured everything out. Well, the problem wasn't going anywhere until fucking autumn, he could take time off for a book tour.

That night at dinner, they got together and spoke about their day. Vivi wouldn't stop crowing about how she beat Clay and Strand on the obstacle course almost every run. “You're smaller!” Clay grumbled. He wasn't the tallest, but his shoulders were wide, built more like Eskel, he moved slower but always hit his target.

“Doesn't matter!” Vivi shot back. “You should know that course better than I do, you had more years on it.”

“Ah, she's got you there,” Lambert said with a smirk.

Jaskier told them about the talk with his publisher— “Wants a book tour as soon as spring hits. No you cannot come with me,” he said, cutting off Zander's offer before he could make it. “You are Witchers, you belong on The Path.”

Eskel laid an arm across the back of Jaskier's chair. “Girls are doing sword training then, Lambert and Geralt's territory, I could tag along.”

“Wonderful.”

They planned out the rest of their year, winter projects—Dieter and Ollie wanted to have at least boots and gauntlets made before they set out, quite an undertaking—and the girls' training schedule come spring, Jaskier's book tour, the new renovations Geralt wanted to make come summer. They didn't talk about autumn, they all more or less knew what had to happen then. It was only one day, one moment where the path to Rhena would open and the wolves could fulfill the promise they made so long ago, hoping it worked this time...

They had months to think it over, to plan. But for now, they needed to keep living, and so they did.

* * *

“You're not staying.”

“But Jaskier—”

“Is a perfectly capable adult who has been on many book tours before,” Eskel growled back. To his credit, Dieter did back away a few steps. Eskel was usually so unflappable, their meditation master who led them through rough moods, calming their minds until they could focus again. It took a lot to piss him off. “You are a Witcher, you place is on The Path. If any of you want to stay the year and teach,” yes, that had been their excuse, and a piss poor one at that, “then you need more time under your belt.”

They'd been building up to this for weeks. As promised, the girls were very good with their training that winter and the boys stayed an extra fortnight to show them some fancy sword work, their little eyes going wide as the proper Witchers showed off, Lambert nodding his approval from the side lines. But they'd had their extra two weeks and now they needed to go. Eskel was already getting calls from as far away as fucking Ban Ard looking for help.

“I need you, Strand, and Clay on your way out tomorrow morning. We let you linger too long.” Dieter looked about to answer back, then thought better of it. _Good choice young wolf_ , Eskel thought. His voice softened now, his point made. “You're what keeps the Continent safe now, you, Strand, Clay, Ollie, Zander and Griffin. You all play your part. We need you out there just as much as we need to stay here. It'll be alright, we've survived a long time on our own.”

“Yeah, okay.” Before he could scurry away with his tail between his legs, Eskel pulled him in for a hug.

The next morning, the boys were off. They didn't make a fuss about it either, simply packed up their gear, gave last hugs, posed for a picture in front of the Scout, and were off, promising to call and check in when they stopped for the night, same as last year. While it wasn't familiar, not yet (Jaskier suspected it never would be) it was easier than last spring. The chaos of Ciri's arrival aside, Jaskier was sad to see them all go last year. It hurt a bit, but he knew they were strong, capable Witchers, ready to take on whatever the world threw at them. After all, he was only a phone call away...

Once the boys were seen off and the girls in their training routine, Jaskier and Eskel packed up for his book tour. The engine of the dingy truck purred, always in perfect condition, as they flew down the road, heading north. Oxenfurt had forgiven Jaskier his imaginary trespasses and he liked to start there, show there was no ill will. Besides, they always offered him a tour of the campus, and he liked to keep an eye on the Alchemy Department, make sure they were staying in their lane on certain things.

Eskel was quiet for a while, until they got out of the more settled areas of Toussaint and into the stretches of rolling hills that went for miles and miles with only the odd farmer with a horse passing by. The tension started to drain from his shoulders and his hands relaxed on the wheel. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I need to get away from the school more, but it's... hard. Especially now.”

Resting his hand on Eskel's knee, Jaskier leaned over, his head on one broad shoulder. There was no one around, and he knew by now how well a Witcher could control the way they drove, snuggling up wouldn't hurt anyone. “I think we're all guilty of focusing a little too close on Corvo Bianco.” _And other things_ , he didn't say, didn't need to, Eskel was fully aware of the amount of nonsense happening in their daily lives, centuries old curse aside.

“Mmm,” Eskel grunted.

After a few more minutes in silence, he looped his arm around Jaskier's shoulders, pulling him close, large hand covering his hip completely. Jaskier closed his eyes and relaxed into the hold, they had a lot of driving to do before the reached their first rest stop, then he had to check in with his publisher (yes, he'd be at Oxenfurt by tomorrow, his agent had no clue how fast his Witchers drove and he'd never tell her) so a nap right now wouldn't go amiss. It made Jaskier feel almost normal again, a normal life of writing, teaching young minds, worrying about his pups, worrying about his mates, no giant fucking curse hanging over them.

Two thick fingers dipped into the side of his waistband and Jaskier cracked on eye open. Eskel was looking straight ahead, eyes on the road, but the fingers at his hip started to move, tickling tender skin. “Eskel...” He kept his voice light, but the warning was still there. Jaskier was not opposed to car sex, gods knew he'd fucked Geralt (and the others) in the Scout plenty of times, and the back of Lambert's current pick up had one of those covers, making it more like a bedroom than anything else, but Eskel's slightly dirty truck was by far the worst for fucking. There was a tiny back seat mostly for storage, and the front seat didn't push back very far. The bench was barely big enough for Jaskier to stretch out, and impossible for Eskel, whose wide shoulders almost needed their own vehicle to begin with.

Yet Eskel was already pulling over, three fingers in Jaskier's waistband. “Eskel,” he sighed again. “Is this really the place?” Of course it was, they all knew how to pick the perfect spots to stop and take a quick nap, areas highway patrol wouldn't look at regularly. They were currently on a side road on their way back to the big highway. It was a detour most drivers didn't need to take, the highway was in good condition, rarely closed for construction or—

“You planned this, didn't you?” Jaskier wanted to scold him, remind Eskel that this was a serious work trip and they had a lovely bed waiting for them in just a few hours time... then Eskel went and unbuckled his belt, lowering his fly and letting his cock out. Lovely and thick, Jaskier could almost taste it on his tongue, _wanted_ to taste it.

“Turned off the main road while you had your eyes closed. We'll still make good time. Unless you don't want to?” Eskel held the base of his cock, propping it up. He didn't wag lewdly in invitation, he simply held it there, an offer.

Well, who was Jaskier to refuse such an offer? He scooted over, leaning down and brushing his lips across the head in a kiss. Eskel groaned and he smirked, lapping at the bead of precome already welling. “You are a bad, bad man. I _love_ it.”

He didn't spend long on Eskel's cock, though if given the opportunity, Jaskier would spend an entire day licking and kissing his Witchers all over, giving them the love and attention they deserved. But even Eskel got impatient. He slipped his whole hand down the back of Jaskier's jeans, dry finger tip gently circling. “Jaskier...” he growled.

Though Eskel's truck wasn't the best for fucking, it wasn't impossible. Stripping Jaskier's jeans off, Eskel produced a bottle of lube from the glove compartment and opened him up, he was already soft and relaxed from their send off last night, but he loved to feel Jaskier's body opening for him, muscles relaxing and parting so sweetly, the sensation never got old.

There was just enough room for Jaskier to sit astride Eskel's lap, the wolf fucking up into him hard. Road sex was always quick, to scratch an itch they didn't know was there, teeth hot against soft skin, both of them moaning a bit too loud...

It was over quickly, but they got what they needed. In a house so full, it was difficult to steal time away some days. Now, outside of Corvo Bianco's gates, their usual responsibilities were so far away... they could be like they were so long ago, Jaskier young and fresh faced, stars in his eyes whenever he looked at the three Witchers who promised him love, and Eskel could remember what it was like to have seven centuries of longing and hunger finally satisfied once again. Yes, they needed this more than they first knew.

Cleaning up after car sex was also not so great, especially with Eskel's less than ideal vehicle. There was a semi-clean wash cloth in the back and plenty of water, Jaskier ran out into the woods to take care of business, then they were off again. This time, Eskel let Jaskier sleep and didn't turn them off to mysterious back roads to have his wicked way with the human.

They reached the hotel and Eskel brought their bags to the room and stripped down before promptly falling asleep on the bed, not bothered as Jaskier fluttered about, calling his agent, confirming their stay in Oxenfurt, then in the next few cities they were supposed to hit.

Every time Jaskier thought he was done and was about to retire to the bed, or pop in the shower, his phone rang _again_. First, it was his agent reconfirming the things they'd already confirmed, and the second time, it was Zander. “You're going to Oxenfurt, right?”

“I wanna talk to him!” a far away voice in the background said, sounded like Griffin.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Yes, we're going to Oxenfurt. No, you should not divert your route to meet us.”

“We don't have to divert, we're already there.” Jaskier groaned, rolling his eyes at his sons.

Over on the bed, Eskel shifted, extending one long arm. “Give me the phone.”

“No, don't put Eskel on,” Zander said quickly, the pleading whine already in his voice. Joke was on him, that hadn't worked on Jaskier in years.

“I'm putting Eskel on!” Jaskier chirped brightly and handed over the phone.

Still laying on the bed, Eskel balanced the phone on his cheek. “You've been on The Path for a fortnight, how many contracts have you done?” Jaskier stood back, watching the subtle changes in Eskel's face, his mind warring between love for their boys, and his role as stern headmaster. It was an adorable thing to watch play out. “Four? Why don't I believe that?” He gripped the phone again and rolled onto his back, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Drowners, a forktail, ghouls and a warg infestation? Fine, _one_ dinner. We're only going to be in Oxenfurt for a day and a half, I'll treat you to one dinner, and you can come to Jaskier's book talk, but as soon as we leave the city, you leave too, driving the opposite direction. I have a contract lined up in Vizima and you will not miss it. Now go to bed, if you plan to drive all night Jaskier won't let me take you out for food, he'll insist on rest.”

“Yes I will!” Jaskier called, hoping his voice carried to the phone.

“Yeah, goodnight, boys.” Eskel ended the call and dropped the phone onto the bedspread, laying his arm across his eyes to block out the light of the small table lamp Jaskier turned on so he didn't have to pace in darkness. “Pups will be with us in Oxenfurt. Fuck, why did I agree to that? This is supposed to be our trip, no monsters, no school stuff, no nothing.”

“Mmm, maybe because you love them and want to see them, make sure they're still hale and hardy.” Jaskier lay on the bed and melted against Eskel's side, smiling when a thick arm came up to hold him closer.

“It's only been two weeks. I shouldn't worry yet.”

Drawing absent patterns in Eskel's chest hair, Jaskier smiled, so many years and they were still learning lessons about their emotions. “Doesn't matter how long you've been apart, you still care about them. In fact, I remember a certain Witcher who planned his route so he could meet up with his brothers at least once a year.”

Eskel's arm did not hide the blush now staining his cheeks. Oh yes, Jaskier remembered bumping into Eskel on The Path several times. He always thought it sweet the way they worried about each other, Geralt licking into his mouth and mumbling, “You taste like Lambert...”

“That was different,” he said after a moment. “It was harder to keep in touch back then, I didn't like waiting all year to know if they were alive or not. And they were my brothers in arms, it was...” he trailed off.

Jaskier took pity on him and snuggled closer, he wouldn't push for more emotional description, not when they were both tired. “And now you have your sons, it's fine to care about them, expected even. A headmaster can still care about his charges. Vesemir did.”

Eskel said nothing. He could point out that Vesemir wasn't technically headmaster, had to have a proper school for that title to apply, but he left it. Jaskier was right, he could be excited to see his boys, it was... normal. It had been so long since the word _normal_ could apply to anything they did, it didn't immediately spring to mind.

Jaskier's trailing fingers swirled lower and lower, until they brushed the fatty swell of a deliciously soft stomach (which hid muscle as strong as steel) right above Eskel's cock. “Since we have plans tomorrow, we should probably make the most of tonight,” he said, voice light. “If you like.”

“I think I do like.” Lifting his arm away from his eyes, golden eyes caught the dim light in the room, sparkling the way that stole Jaskier's breath.

It did not take much to get a Witcher hard, a stiff breeze could manage it if they were in the mood. Sure, they had absolute control of their bodies and pushed down that urge when it was unwanted or distracting, but all Jaskier had to do was look at Eskel's flaccid cock and in the blink of an eye, a fine erection had replaced it.

“Beautiful,” he purred, wrapping his fingers around the magnificent beast. Jaskier was still wearing his briefs and t-shirt, but Eskel was gloriously naked, and if Jaskier had any say in it, the Witcher would never put on clothes again. He licked his lips as his eyes devoured the scene in front of him, large body spread out, legs open, hips thrusting up to get more of the soft touches. He pushed Eskel's foreskin back, watching the hypnotic movement of his cock, suddenly mesmerized by the bead of precome at his slit. “Beautiful.”

Spreading his legs wider, Eskel stretched, arching his back and pushing his hips up into Jaskier's loose grip, already trying to get more. “How do you want me?”

“Just like this.” Jaskier didn't move in to kiss, he stayed sat at Eskel's side, strokes getting faster and faster. “I want you to lay back and enjoy, don't worry about a thing.” Jaskier's bag of toiletries was in the bathroom, the bag that also contained their lube. Oh, how he wanted to push two fingers into Eskel's deserving hole, make him feel good all over, but he couldn't bring himself to stop stroking, stop pleasuring the cock that fucked him only this afternoon.

“Jaskier,” Eskel whispered, already starting to squirm.

“You know what I love? Watching you and Geralt together. You two are quite a sight, the White Wolf holding you tight as he plays your body the way I play the guitar.”

“Oh, you know I like that too...” More squirming, but not enough to dislodge Jaskier's hand. It was both too much and not enough, with every swipe over the head of his cock, Eskel felt sparks of pleasure shoot through him... but the shadow of impending orgasm stayed too far away to reach like this.

“Next time we have a day for all of us, I want to watch you together. I'll sit Lambert on my cock, nice and pretty, and watch Geralt _worship_ you, like you both deserve.”

Geralt's mouth was a work of art, the way he could lick and suck in exactly the right spots, applying the perfect amount of pressure to any bite, Jaskier knew this, and he knew Eskel was weak for it. At night in their bed, he'd do almost anything to get Geralt to stop teasing him and wrap those beautiful lips around his cock, and the vision of Lambert warming Jaskier's cock at the same time almost sent him over. _Almost_.

“Jaskier!” he hissed.

Fingers kept lightly touching, almost stroking, but never quite enough. “Lube is in the bathroom, can you keep your hands to yourself while I go get it?” Arching an eyebrow, Eskel reached back and wrapped his arms around the slats in the headboard. _Challenge accepted_. “Good boy.” Jaskier snatched a kiss before running to the bathroom, grabbing his bag and plopping back on the bed.

The cool gel made Eskel hiss, but the two fingers nudging his ass made him moan. “Yes, please more of that.”

Jaskier gave him more, slowly but surely, he slid in to the knuckle and quickly found Eskel's prostate, stimulating the gland and producing a copious amount of precome, eyes wide as he watched bead after bead roll down Eskel's shaft. “We should do this more often, spoil that pretty ass of yours.

“Jaskier, fuck, I'm—” Eskel didn't finish his words, but the sudden gush of come was explanation enough. Jaskier worked him through it until he was a shivering, shaking mess, then gently pulled out, getting up to grab a damp cloth from the bathroom.

When Eskel was cleaned and under the covers, Jaskier joined him, spooning up behind the larger man. “We need to do this more often. I need to treat all of you,” he mumbled into the back of Eskel's shoulder.

“You don't exactly ignore us. And it's been busy lately.”

Yes, _busy_ , but Eskel was careful not to say with what. They'd get back to their normal sex lives soon enough, with the boys out of the house now, it was easier to steal time away, Jaskier would make sure of it. Because in less than a year, he'd have to send them into the unknown.

Jaskier clamped down on the dark thoughts creeping up on him and closed his eyes, letting sleep take over. Eskel already had a head start, a light snore pushing from his lips.

The next day, as soon as they arrived at Oxenfurt, Eskel called the boys. “Meet us at the Cross Roads Inn, I always liked that place.”

They got to the hotel and saw the boys pacing outside, their dirty truck out of place in the city, but a perfect match for Eskel's equally dirty truck. Before they could launch at Jaskier—asking him about any new dreams, how was Ciri, did he hear from home—Eskel herded them inside, paying for two rooms with a connecting door.

He handed them their key. “Go sleep, we'll take you to lunch later, then Jaskier has his book talk, dinner after that. Bed _early_ , then you're on the road in the morning. No arguments.”

Griffin bit his lip, the urge to push back so strong; they were grown men now, grown Witchers, being sent for a nap was... Behind him, Zander let out a yawn and they relented. They all went to their rooms, Eskel splaying out on the bed, Jaskier looking over his notes for the talk. “How long do you think until they try to sneak over here?” he asked.

Eskel grunted. “Not until tonight.” He heaved himself off the bed and walked to the bathroom for a shower.

They went to lunch, then Jaskier's talk at a quaint little bookstore right off the Oxenfurt campus proper, he was insistent on that, he would visit the city for a talk, he would not present at the academy, it was... a compromise. The new crop of academics and poetry students had no idea of the fraught history the current Jaskier had with their beloved academy, and he didn't bring it up, smiling and answering their questions to the best of his ability. It was a great help that four scary Witchers were standing at the back of the room, all eyes on the bard-turned author as he spoke abut his recent _History on the Order of Witchers_. He'd done all the schools, and the Order was fascinating, it's lofty and admirable goals, the way it fractured and broke, scattering Witchers across the Continent. Every once in a while, someone would peer at the back of the room and squeak excitedly when they saw Eskel's eyes.

After he was done signing copies of the book (and any old copy someone brought for him, he truly didn't mind) Eskel stalked to the front of the shop and placed a hand on Jaskier's shoulder. “Done?”

There were a few more people wanting to chat, but it was growing late and Jaskier was parched after the talk. Jaskier made his excuses and they headed out, excited whispers following them. “My agent should pay you commission, no better way to sell a book on a history of Witchers than to have Witchers posted during the talk,” Jaskier laughed.

Dinner was equally lovely and Eskel took the time to grill the boys about their contracts, giving them their next assignments, and listening to their questions and stories. Jaskier watched him lean in, jaw a little stern, but eyes soft. They told him about their last contract—a forktail—and Eskel's lips quirked into a smile as he listened. Yes, they checked in over the year, governments gave feedback on the jobs the Witchers did, but there was a deep satisfaction to telling tales around a meal, like winter in the Kaer Morhen of old, that place they both remembered from so very long ago.

As predicted, as soon as Jaskier and Eskel settled down for bed, there was a knock at the door connecting their rooms. Griffin poked his head in. “I'm just gonna leave this open, so you don't miss us when we take off in the morning.” Eskel grunted, Jaskier pretended to be asleep already, as if the boys would be up and going before them.

Slowly but surely, they all crept in with their pillows and sleeping bags, laying out on the floor around the bed, Ollie right next to Griffin as they put themselves between the bed and the main door, while Zander guarded the door to the other bedroom. Eskel scrubbed a hand over his face. “Should've locked the door,” he grumbled.

“Let them protect us, it makes them feel needed.” Jaskier closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, it was relatively easy with so many bodies around him, like the old camping trips they went on when they were all still in training. What he'd give to go back to those years when they were all young, pimples across their faces as they earned their first scars from first monsters under the watchful eyes of their teachers.

Yes, they were just camping, another day to teach the boys about the world that waited for them, nothing special. For the moment, Jaskier let himself forget what was swirling around them, what was waiting at the end of the year. Worrying wouldn't do them any good, so he put it out of his mind. He closed his eyes and dreamed of the tower, but his Witchers all around him—his protectors—kept him safe.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a pawn of Destiny was still new to Jaskier, who led his first life merely showing others the way to their fulfillment, never having such a grand purpose on his own. Once again, he was guiding them, but it felt like more this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Wednesday where I am, I decided to post it now.
> 
> I didn't forget about Jaskier's family, they always get at least one chapter where he visits. Please enjoy a little bit of sex, and a little bit of fluff <3

The summer rains came as they did every year, breaking the heat and feeding the crops of nearby vineyards, only this year, they also served to enhance Jaskier's nightmares. He'd dream of the rain soaked hillside only to wake up to the sound of rain beating against their very real windows. At least he never lacked for a pair of arms to hold him as he tried to stop shaking from the cold that wasn't there.

It didn't fucking make sense, they knew about the curse now, made plans to break it and set things right again, the dreams were a useless signpost towards a path they were already on, for Ciri and Jaskier. He supposed Destiny really didn't want them to fuck it up this time.

Although, the dream seemed to be progressing, now going further than Geralt had gotten all those years ago. Jaskier and Ciri took to discussing it over breakfast almost every morning, their heads bent together at one corner of the table as the girls monopolized Lambert and Eskel's attention. Geralt watched them, though, Yen too when she was in the house, he saw the way their lips turned down in matching frowns as they discussed.

“You saw the door? Even I haven't gotten that far,” Jaskier said, voice low.

“Yes, and there were three grooves carved into the wood, almost like a Y, but with a gap between the branches. And I think a circle at the bottom?” Ciri's memories were returning faster and faster each day, and she'd started to recall the original contract. “I think that's the lock we need my blood to open.”

With her memories came a new hardness, her harsh first life coloring her thoughts. It only made her more determined to regain her former strength; sword training with Lambert was intense, but she was getting better, always wanting to go harder, train longer until she had it down cold. “I miss Coën,” she said one day as they took a water break. Leaning into Lambert's shoulder, she sighed. “You two always worked so well together, you made me laugh at the moments I was ready to give up the whole thing.”

“I miss him too, kid.” While Coën was quiet at first, once you got to know him, he was a laugh a minute, ready to run in and help at the drop of a hat; he was as much a part of Ciri's original training as Lambert, and fuck, he missed those sickly yellow-green eyes when they smiled at him, when Coën moved in close, their lips a breath away... He shook himself, chasing away the lustful memories of what they did _after_ training and standing up. “Alright, break's over, show me those forms again.”

No matter how many times the nightmares interrupted their sleep, Ciri was dead set on continuing her normal life, when the girls wanted to go camping, she insisted on joining, leaving Geralt and Jaskier in an empty house that made too much noise now that it wasn't full of human hearts. Jaskier had gotten so used to the sound of Vivi's snoring, or Tessa's mumbled sleep talking, and Alvia grumbling at them both before throwing a pillow over her head. It took him a week or so to adjust each time the boys left for The Path at the beginning of spring, and now he found it too quiet once again, the rain the only kind of noise he didn't want right now.

He looked out at the waterlogged courtyard of Corvo Bianco. Geralt did everything he could to make their home resistant to the ravages of the weather—the place had to last, after all—but with such a downpour, there was no way to avoid puddles and soggy, muddy ground until the sun returned and dried the place out. The mud covering the training ground made Jaskier frown, but he couldn't look away. Muddy hillside, muddy courtyard, his life was just covered in mud with no way to escape, not until the correct time. And he was so fucking tired of waiting.

Arms settled on his hips, a chin slotting over his shoulder, but Jaskier didn't jump like he would have even a few years ago. His Wolves were all silent hunters, he half expected them to be around every corner. “You should be asleep,” Geralt's deep voice rumbled in his ear.

Jaskier shrugged and snuggled back into the glorious heat behind him. Watching the rain, _feeling_ it inside his head, made him cold despite the early summer heat, he didn't notice exactly how cold until Geralt's furnace-like warmth pushed up behind him. “House is empty, we can sleep in tomorrow if we like.”

A nose slid up his neck, sniffing. “Time was, we'd both love an empty house. Remember the first time me and Eskel took the boys camping? Lambert wouldn't stop showing off the bites you left on his chest.”

Jaskier smiled despite himself. It was difficult to leave a lasting love bite on Witcher skin, and Jaskier didn't like rough play with Lambert, but sometimes he just had to grab and feel, teeth sucking on the skin he loved so much, teasing at nipples and sensitive inner thighs, until Lambert was moaning and coming without even a hand to his cock. Jaskier got like that with the others too from time to time, when he really _needed_ them every way he could get them. But the last months of their cosmic holding pattern made it... difficult. All he could do was hold them, pretend things were normal when they really, really weren't. Autumn was creeping closer and they'd be done soon, done with the Destiny that still felt like jerking them around.

“Mmm, time was...” he whispered.

Geralt's nose traveled up his neck, into the shorter hair at the base of his skull, tongue flicking out to lick. Jaskier closed his eyes and let his wolf do what his instincts demanded, taking care of his mate, one of them at least. As soon as they were all back together, Jaskier was going to pull them into bed and let all three sniff him and lick him to their heart's content, he needed to feel them, now more than ever.

“Was it the tower?” Geralt whispered into his skin, voice vibrating along his nape pleasantly.

“Yes. I think I got farther this time.” Jaskier closed his eyes and recalled the tower, a thing that usually filled him with a heavy dread, but safe in Geralt's arms, he was protected. “The door, there are three diagonal lines, like a Y, but separated. I think... I think they're supposed to work like a channel. There's a circle at the bottom, carved deeper into the wood. It was... it was filled with blood.” Elder Blood, Ciri's blood, they all knew about that part, but seeing it—finally seeing what the Witchers were supposed to do when they reached that door—was a little too harrowing for Jaskier's mind at the moment.

Arms squeezed him tighter. “So we know how to open the lock. That's good.” Geralt went silent, letting the sound of rain take over for a beat. “You're worried Ciri had the same dream out on the camping trip? Seeing her blood dripping down the door?” Jaskier didn't say anything, but he didn't have to, Jaskier and Ciri shared a closeness that transcended their status as the only reincarnated humans on the Continent, their destinies were linked in a way they never were before. Being a pawn of Destiny was still new to Jaskier, who led his first life merely showing others the way to their fulfillment, never having such a grand purpose on his own. Once again, he was guiding them, but it felt like _more_ this time.

He held Jaskier tighter. “She's strong, neither of you wake up screaming anymore, and she's not alone. I'm sure Lambert and Eskel will help her. The girls will probably braid her hair and tell her stories until she calms down again.” Aside from Geralt, Griffin had the longest hair, a mane of red waves the girls loved to get their hands on. At first, they just pat him and combed their fingers through it until Eskel sat them down and showed them how to braid it. He taught all the boys too, years ago when they were younger, trying to grow their hair to be like Geralt, or slicking it back like Lambert, wanting to look like their teachers.

“You want long hair, you're gonna learn how to deal with it,” Eskel said, sitting them down for a lesson. Griffin was the only one who kept it long all the time, letting his brothers play with it or run their hands through it when they needed the stress relief. Every few years, the boys asked for a pet of some sort, and Eskel would always reply, “You don't need one, you have Griff's hair.”

Jaskier pressed his lips together. “I suppose you're right.” They were camping about twenty miles away, probably too far for the storm to reach and add another layer of anxiety to the whole night. Jaskier closed his eyes again and leaned back into Geralt. “I'm sorry I'm so restless, with the house empty, it's a chance for you to get some sleep too.”

“Hmm, like you said, we can sleep in tomorrow.” Lips that were soft against his neck, providing comfort, suddenly turned more heated, kissing until they met the collar of Jaskier's hastily thrown on shirt—one of Eskel's. It was a tent on him, reaching down to the top swell of his ass His hands moved down, sliding over those lovely legs, squeezing his ass lightly. “We really should take advantage of this alone time. Might get your mind off things.” They never said what _things_ , they were all very careful about that. Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert knew what awaited them in the fall, a trip up a hill to rescue a woman they failed to save before, unknown obstacles in their path... but they didn't directly bring it up, Jaskier had enough on his mind with the nightmares still coming, reminding him of the task they had yet to complete.

“Let me take you back to bed. Please?” Geralt whispered, and Jaskier agreed. Strong, wide hands seized his hips before pulling him off the floor. Geralt urged him to wrap his legs around his waist and cling on, carrying him through the halls of their southern home the way he'd carried him through the halls of Kaer Morhen, both of them fresh from the hot springs, unable to keep their hands off each other for even a second.

Geralt still smelled the same, had the same smile, the same (small) wrinkles around his eyes. Jaskier used to love it, it made him think of bygone days filled with nothing but happiness as they lounged in a warm bed. Now, he thought of the reason _why_ Geralt was still the same and it turned his stomach. “Don't think about it,” Geralt whispered as he placed Jaskier on the bed. “Please. It'll be over soon.” Jaskier nodded and lifted his arms, letting Geralt push at the hem of the shirt he pulled on as he rolled from the bed, the blanket he wore around his shoulders like a cape already discarded at the bedroom door.

Geralt wore nothing, as usual, striding through the house like a nude sculpture come to life. It was a rare treat to have the house so empty and Geralt's hedonistic tendencies were in full force. This morning, he made Jaskier breakfast wearing nothing but an apron and a dirty grin. Now, his cock swaying and slowly filling, he ran hands all over Jaskier, pushing his shirt up and off before starting on the slippers Jaskier wore to pad around, they kept his elegant toes toasty warm during the chilly summer storms. Geralt pulled the slippers off and discarded them over his shoulder before capturing Jaskier's right foot, kissing each toe, then going for the left foot to repeat the process.

He kissed Jaskier's arches, up his ankles and calves, fingers kneading strong muscles as he went. “Geralt, fuck...” Jaskier panted, his cock drooling across his belly.

“Give me a minute,” he mumbled, then placed a smacking kiss on the inside of Jaskier's thigh. He urged Jaskier to sit up against the head of the bed, arranging the pillows behind him for comfort, then ducked away to grab the nearest bottle of lube. While they were no longer spread around the house, in their bed, they were never far from a quick handful of smooth gel, it never took long before they could be inside each other, or rutting against a firm stomach, moans and growls filling the air.

Jaskier sat and watched Geralt reach behind himself, pushing two fingers into his hole. His cock jerked and Jaskier gripped at the base, steadying, not stroking, just... enjoying the view. “You know,” he whispered, voice rougher than normal. “I can do that for you.”

“Mmm, I know you can, but maybe I want you to watch me.” Geralt was mostly focused on his task, but with half an eye on Jaskier. He smirked when Jaskier's cock twitched again at his words, oh yes, he could still rile the human up very well indeed.

And watch Jaskier did. He made himself comfortable back on the pillows, his hand now lightly palming his cock—not stroking, didn't want to ruin whatever Geralt had planned for them—but Jaskier needed to touch. With one of his Witchers so near, hot skin only seconds away, he couldn't contain himself.

“Sit back,” Geralt said. His voice was no softer than normal, but very low, warm syrup pouring over gravel, rough and smooth at the same time. Jaskier did as he was told, eyes wide as he watched one of his glorious predators climb onto the bed, limbs almost gliding through the space.

Geralt knelt across Jaskier's lap, pushing his legs together and bracketing them with his own thick thighs. He smeared another hand full of lube down Jaskier's cock, squeezing tight, chasing his orgasm back. “Geralt... don't tease me.”

“Not teasing, don't worry.” Pressing a kiss to Jaskier's lips, Geralt got them in place. The head of Jaskier's cock twitched against his crack as he reached behind, guiding it into his hole. Jaskier's hands floundered a little, usually busy fingers looking for something to touch, hold, squeeze, but Geralt was taking care of everything and Jaskier ended up resting his hands on the solid muscles of Geralt's thighs, urging him down.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Geralt took more of Jaskier's cock inside him, the hot clench of his body making him moan and shudder. Geralt was completely focused on Jaskier, their eyes locked together as he lowered himself down, taking every inch of Jaskier's cock. Beautiful blue eyes fluttered closed and Geralt took the opportunity to lick across each lid, earning him a small giggle. Jaskier was all for butterfly kisses and soft nuzzling, but his Wolves needed to lick and taste his skin. He loved the animalistic nature of it, whether they were soft puppy licks or predatory wolf growls of a creature protecting its mate, he loved it all so very much. They could lick him from nose to toes (and had before) and he'd enjoy every moment of it.

Another swipe of a tongue over his eyebrows had Geralt purring. His plush ass hit the tops of Jaskier's thighs and they both moaned. Moving slowly, so as not to jostle the prick inside him and end things early, Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier, pulling their foreheads together, wrapping around him completely. “There,” he whispered. “Now I have all of you.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier didn't know what to say, he was overwhelmed by the heat of his Witcher, the closeness, the arms and the body encasing him completely, he couldn't form words.

“I've got you,” Geralt whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

He started moving, slowly, of course, but it wasn't the maddening kind of slow meant to tease, but the thoughtful kind, every touch enhanced by the slightness of it, fingers dragging across skin lighting a trail of sparks wherever they went, lips barely brushing even as Geralt's body squeezed around him. Jaskier's grip on his thighs tightened and Geralt continued with the soft, slow touches, building the energy between them like a pot of boiling water, starting with a slow simmer until the heat roiled over and—

“Geralt!” Jaskier came, ropes of come filling Geralt, while his own cock stayed hard and almost red with need. Geralt hadn't even touched his own cock, not much, just the rub of it between Jaskier's slight pudge and Geralt's tense, forever muscled abs gently brushing every few rolls of gloriously slim hips, built for quick turns and fancy pirouettes with a sword, but also perfect for fucking. Jaskier enjoyed every part of his Witchers and thought about those hips a lot, especially when they were driving him absolutely mad.

His hands twitched, scrambling to take Geralt in hand even as his own pleasure was still going, the last few bright sparks coursing through him, but Geralt grabbed his wrist. “No, I got it.” His body clenched down and Jaskier moaned again, cock almost too sensitive, but Geralt managed to get another weak pulse from him before Jaskier went boneless against the pillows, cock already softening.

Geralt pulled off his lap, but didn't go far, straddling Jaskier's thighs and letting his come drip out a little, covering both of them in their mixed scent. It didn't take more than a few strokes of his own cock for Geralt to come, long ropes painting Jaskier's chest. A low growl of satisfaction bubbled from his lips and Geralt licked up Jaskier's cheek, savoring the taste of _them_ together. He loved Eskel and Lambert, loved them dearly and enjoyed watching them take care of Jaskier, but some nights, Geralt just wanted the man for himself, to cover him with his scent so completely, no one could ever mistake their bond.

In a few days, when Eskel and Lambert returned with the girls and reported on their camping trip, they'd sniff at Jaskier, their noses finding every last trace Geralt left on him, and purr their satisfaction. They could all smell Jaskier's fear, whenever he woke from a nightmare, whenever he let himself think too deeply about what had to happen just days before his fucking birthday, that he had to watch his Witchers enter a portal, hoping they were strong enough to return. They all knew it tore him up, and all they could do was be there, show him they would protect him come anything, just as they had in his first life. Sure, there were no monsters coming after him or them anymore, but the specters Jaskier created in his own mind were more than enough to plague his thoughts night and day.

So tonight, Geralt held Jaskier close, cleaning them up before settling into bed, his nose already buried in Jaskier's hair again. He would protect their bard from the shadows of the past inside his head, and they would not fail this time.

* * *

Jaskier had run out of excuses, his mother demanded he visit. Last Yule was busy with the pups home again, Ciri's training, the new, harrowing deadline hanging over their heads, the fucking curse. And he missed his birthday the year before for other reasons—too busy, school, you know, plus a book tour... his mother wasn't buying it anymore, so off he went, hopping a flight to Upper Posada.

His mother always promised he wouldn't have to work a shift— “You're here for a visit! Why would I put you to work?” —until a bus filled with tourists visiting the _quaint_ old style villages for the Belleteyn festivals rolled in and they were swamped for an afternoon. It happened every time he visited, part of him wondered if his mother could summon customers on demand.

Pockets bulging with tips, Jaskier slumped at the counter, his own lunch getting cold next to him. He loved the diner food, but the extra grease didn't sit well in his already tight stomach. It was almost Belleteyne, and he'd be back at Corvo Bianco the night before so he could celebrate properly with his wolves, _properly_ probably meaning a quick fuck in the bathhouse in the middle of the night when the girls were zonked out, exhausted from all the fun of the festival going on in town. Belleteyne was supposed to be a time of carefree fun, but Jaskier had so many cares at the moment, and of course his mother noticed...

Sitting down next to him at the counter, Lydia de Stael brushed back her mostly brown, but also mostly gray hair, focusing too blue eyes on Jaskier. “Is everything alright, dear? You've been... off. Are they...” She bit her tongue. She didn't like to make assumptions about the Witchers her son shared his life with, they'd done right by him for over fifteen years now, but she worried about all her children, it was in a mother's nature. “Is everything alright. At home?”

Jaskier squashed down the urge to put on a smile and wave her concerns away. It was the eyes, those too blue, too all-seeing orbs, he knew the power of them, he grew up with that, so he knew exactly what Geralt, or Eskel and Lambert felt when he turned _that_ gaze on them. But he was helpless against it as well.

Sitting up straight, Jaskier took another few bites of his hash brown before answering, he needed the strength. “Yes, things are fine... but also no. But not in the way you think. Uh, it's a lot to explain...” Jaskier floundered for a moment and thankfully his mother sat and waited, instead of jumping to any number of conclusions. He swiped a hand over his face, pressing the heel into his eye until he saw stars. Fuck, so many months of nothing, waiting, with so many years of secrets before that... His family didn't know who he was, not really. They knew about the books and the music, they were very proud of him (even after everything that happened with Oxenfurt) glad he found his own way in the world after all, but they didn't know the most important thing about their own damn son. Suddenly, Jaskier felt like he needed them to know more than anything else in this world.

“Mum, why did you name me Jaskier? I know you found the old journals in Gran's attic and liked the sound of it, but... why? Why Jaskier? You named Jasper after a rock,” she rolled her eyes at that, remembering the days when her three children named after flowers ganged up on her sweet boy named after a stone, “Junie and Rosa, those sound normal-ish. But then _Jaskier_. Why?”

It hadn't really bothered him, per se, with their Aen Seidhe blood, strange names cropped up in the family all the time, but Jaskier had a lot of space to think this year, about Destiny, his return to the world, pulled back by a fucking curse... where did it all truly start? When Geralt jumped into that portal and they all abandoned their contract? Or the moment Lydia de Stael saw the name _Jaskier_ in an old book and decided she liked the sound of it?

“Hmm...” She considered for a moment, then frowned softly. “I think your Gran picked it out. She's the one who showed me the journals, said your father never had any interest in their ancestors and she wanted someone in the family to have them, pass them on. She said, Jaskier the Bard had a good head on him, good name for a son, and I decided she was right.”

Jaskier wanted to laugh—Jaskier of old having a good head, _gave_ good head maybe—but he managed to keep his dirty thoughts to himself. “And that was it? The only reason? Gran liked it and you liked it too?”

“Yes. What other reason might there be?”

Jaskier slumped forward again, resting his head on the counter even as he reached out to lace his fingers with his mother's. She squeezed his hand, her way of letting him know she was still there, still listening. Fuck, Jaskier had so many good memories of this family, _his_ family, he loved them dearly, and moments like this, his old life seemed... so far away, even as the remnants of that past life were knocking at their door, demanding to be put to rest. He didn't have an allegiance to the Pankratz family, not then and certainly not now. He needed her to know, needed to tell her she was the only mother he'd ever loved, it was suddenly so very important. No mater what Destiny had planned for him, Lydia de Stael was his only mother.

He swallowed thickly and whispered, “Destiny?”

“Destiny?” she repeated.

The dam inside Jaskier burst, mumbling his confession into the counter top, the last decade and a half started to spill out. “I'm not just your Jaskier, you named me after me—it started when I was eighteen, as soon as Geralt came into the diner. I started having memories, things I couldn't possibly know, not even from reading all those old journals.” The few books his family had, he'd read cover to cover by the time he was fourteen, if he was going to have delusions of himself as the Jaskier of old, it would've started a hell of a lot sooner than the first night Geralt stumbled into their diner with the thousand yard stare of not enough sleep coupled with seeing the exact spitting image of his longest lost lover. “And when Geralt, Lambert, and Eskel started telling me about Jaskier, I remembered more. Vivid memories, like it happened yesterday, not seven hundred years ago. Suddenly, I'm two people and it was... it was a lot.”

He turned his head, focusing watery eyes on his mother. “A sorceress friend of ours—Yennefer, you've met her—she did a spell, confirmed I was _that_ Jaskier too. We didn't know why until...” He bit his lip. This was the scary part. Second life, new memories jumbled in with old ones, that was one thing, but a gods damn curse dragging him back through time in the first place? That was a lot, even for a woman who was used to bows and arrows at her table, half elven grandchildren running around and climbing everything they could.

But Lydia de Stael held her son's gaze, one hand gripping his, the other petting through his hair. She didn't interrupt, let him speak at his own pace. Jaskier took a breath and finished the whole crazy tale. “When I died, the first time, as Jaskier the Bard, Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert, they left a contract unfulfilled. It brought a curse down on them—me too—brought me back. This whole year, we've been... wading through it. We have a plan to fix it, I don't want to worry you, it's just been... too much.”

Tears pooled under his cheek, there was probably a small puddle on the counter by now, but he didn't care. His mother's kind eyes looked back at him, listening to slightly manic ravings like he was making any sort of sense. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you, you're my family and I should have—it was just so strange. Human reincarnation isn't supposed to happen, and yet, here I am. But that was before we knew why. I didn't tell you because I wanted to keep you safe, you didn't need magic coming to screw up your lives. Then I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to think I loved my other family more. Jaskier the Bard's family was shit, you're the only true mother I've ever had and I'd get rid of those old memories if I could. I love you, I love you all. I'm—” he hiccuped, taking a gasp of air. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.”

His mother smiled softly and waited for him to cry himself out, the weight of fifteen years of secrecy falling away in one moment. When his shoulders stopped shaking, she grabbed a napkin from one of the silver dispensers and dried his face before pulling him into a tight hug, fingers still petting through his hair. “Three Witchers come to my door, say they remember my son's _ancestor_ , and would like to get to know him, and you don't think I suspected magic right away?” Pulling back, she brushed Jaskier's nose with the pad of her finger, earning a wet giggle. “Your Gran said there was destiny in you, and I never doubted her, she had a way with those things. Just like when she looked at Jasper and said 'that one will marry an elf, bring longevity back to this family.' She looked at Rosa the day she was born and said she'd paint the Valley of Flowers back to life, now she does all the travel brochures for the whole nature preserve.” Jaskier had seen his sister's paintings, they were beautiful, flowery scenes of the forests and valleys they'd run through as children, a perfect representation of the land that seemed frozen in time. “And Juniper, your Gran always said she had a way with herbs, now she has two shops in Ban Ard supplying those mages at the college. Your Gran saw something in all of you and she hasn't been wrong yet.”

Eyes softening a little, Lydia brushed her fingers down her son's cheek, then over the curve of his round ears, they were never as pointy as her other children and she always suspected there was something extra special at play. It was good to have it confirmed. “As for the past life, of course I know you love me, even if you loved your first mother too, that wouldn't take away from the life we've shared, all the things we've done as a family.”

Jaskier couldn't hold himself back any longer, another wave of sobs ripped through him, happy this time, and he lunged forward, pulling her into an almost too tight hug. “I love you, I really do. So much.”

“I love you too, sweet heart.” They held each other for a long moment, even when Jaskier relaxed his hold, his mother didn't quite let go. “This curse, you said you have it all in hand?”

“Yes, we know what we have to do, there's just—there's a window. We can't act until the correct time.” Jaskier and Ciri had seen the whole journey by now, climbing up the muddy hillside, the grooves in the wood to accept the blood, the winding stair behind the door, and finally the glowing portal at the top, the door to Rhena's world between worlds. They had all the information they needed, and it was a waiting game now, only a month to go...

“Well, whatever happens, let us know, yeah? I can't stand thinking those Witchers of yours might find themselves in trouble. We care about them too, you know, they're as much my family as Rosa's husband or Jasper's wife.”

“Yes, I'll let you know. Whatever happens, I'll let you know.”

Jaskier headed south again two days later, and when he boarded the plane back to Toussaint, he felt somehow lighter. The last secret he had was out, not out there in the world, but everyone who _mattered_ knew. First the boys, then Vivi, Tessa and Alvia, and now his family knew as well. Somehow, having it all out there—or, as much as he could explain in an hour without sounding insane—made it seem like less of a mountain. It wasn't a monumental fight to the bitter end, it was a journey the Witchers had taken before, and now they'd complete it. The end was almost in sight.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three sets of golden eyes all met. In a week's time, they were going to march across Spikeroog, climb a fucking tower, fight an unknowable monster, rescue a woman they should have rescued gods damn centuries ago, and then they were going to come home and make their bard sing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the double penetration chapter! Did anyone doubt I'd get to it? (I mean, it's me so... yeah, this was always a given.) There are also a lot of heavy feelings in this chapter, just like the rest of the fic. Getting ready to fulfill the contract they failed on so long ago... I hope everyone enjoys, and remember, I only put them in mild peril. Things are going to be tense... but mostly alright. Enjoy <3

When Clay, Dieter, and Stranden showed up a full month ahead of schedule, Eskel almost hit the roof. “You came home early from The Path last year too!” he growled, already working up to a really forceful lecture, the kind they hadn't gotten since they were all still learning Signs and set half the obstacle course on fire. “What's the excuse this year? Clay doesn't look injured.”

Lips set in a tight line, Strand only had to say one word: “Jaskier.”

Eskel deflated, shoulders relaxing a little. “What about Jaskier?” He heard the movement upstairs in the music room, more like he now heard the _lack_ of movement. Jaskier was taking Alvia through a piano lesson that mysteriously stopped as soon as he raised his voice. The whole damn house was listening in probably.

“You're leaving soon,” Stranden said. “To... take care of things. You honestly want to leave him alone to watch the girls by himself? They'll be just as nervous as he is.”

They pups had been checking in—like usual, keeping Eskel and the others informed about their contracts—but they asked about the curse too. Had they figured it out? They were sure they had the right location? The right date? Were Jaskier and Ciri still having nightmares? They were as well informed as they could be, and they all knew the date when Eskel, Geralt, and Lambert would step into a portal and finish their last fucking contract, of course they wanted to be there to... keep things together.

The fight completely gone out of him, Eskel waved them off. “Fine, home early this year, means you're going out as soon as the ground starts to thaw in spring.” They all grunted their agreement and shuffled into the kitchen, devouring any food they found. Eskel added to the grocery list for that week.

Ollie, Griffin, and Zander showed up two days later with the same story. “You can't leave Jaskier alone to worry with the kids also worrying their heads off.”

“Ciri will be here too,” Geralt said, their last, best excuse. Ciri was technically an adult, she could watch the girls, especially because Yennefer was going to be indisposed at that time as well. Yennefer had her own plans that involved focusing all her magic on Spikeroog like a fucking laser, ready to pull them out as soon as the task was finished, and make sure nothing followed them _out_ of the tower. Pocket dimensions were tricky beasts, as Yennefer reminded them over and over again for the last months of waiting.

“Yes, I will,” Ciri answered from her spot in the library where she was reading up on medicinal plants. Most of her memories were back and she liked to quiz herself, see if she remembered all the old recipes and formulas she used to know.

When her final memories slid into place, Yennefer took her to the ass end of Spikeroog and she confirmed, “This is the place.”

She didn't even look up from her book. “And I agree with Ollie: Jaskier is going to worry, the girls will worry, and I don't know how much help I'll be keeping them all together while _I_ try not to worry.” Sparkling green eyes flashed up to them. “I'm also terrified of what you'll find on the other side of that portal, Gynaevl didn't make it sound good.” They'd been over this as well, the lock on Rhena's tower was only the first obstacle, then there was the guardian they were warned about all those years ago, but they couldn't fucking find what it might be and just settled on researching anything that could live _between_ worlds. Thankfully, that list was small, but the creatures on it were fearsome.

Resigning himself to a full house a month earlier than he expected, Eskel and Geralt let the boys settle back in. Lambert took a special pleasure waking them up for drills at the crack of dawn as penance.

The days grew shorter and there was a chill in the air. While usually they'd be making plans for Jaskier's birthday, this year they were... still making plans, but not the sort they all wanted to make. In years past, Geralt, Lambert, and Eskel conspired for weeks on what to get their eternal song bird; one year, they took him to one of Essi's concerts, she sent them free tickets, which they carefully kept away from Jaskier until the night of, going for drinks with his old friend after, painting Toussaint absolutely red with their fun. Another year, Eskel invited Jaskier to the bathhouse where he had a massage table set out, they rubbed and kneaded and Jaskier's muscles until he was a puddle, then tenderly made love in the steam, each taking their turn to worship the body they still thought might disappear under their fingers.

The boys had their own traditions for Jaskier's birthday, like the years Dieter and Clay decided they'd make a cake from scratch. The first few attempts were... not great, but as they learned more skills from Eskel and read up on their own, they started to get better and better, their crowning achievement being a red velvet cake in the shape of a lute. Jaskier loved it so much he started crying when they brought it out to him. Las year, the Vivi and Alvia put their heads together and (under Geralt's careful supervision) made a wallet for Jaskier with a wolf head embossed into the leather. He still smiled whenever he took it out of his pocket.

No matter what they did for his birthday, big or small, Jaskier loved it, because it was a gift from his wolves and the other members of his family.

He didn't love this year, didn't know what was waiting for him on the other side of this whole curse they were caught in, and frankly, it was hard to get excited about anything. He still put on a brave face, gave music lessons and history lectures like normal, with the small addition of a few extra bodies in the house. Strand took over some of Alvia's piano lessons for him, leaving Jaskier free to collect his notes for his next work on Witchers. He'd done so many by now, the history of each school, a history of the Order of Witchers, and of course his first work, _Witchers and Bards, First Hand Accounts of the Great Northern Wars_.

In his first life, Jaskier had a memoir, possibly published a bit prematurely, but he was like that back then, still was a little now... But no matter how much he looked at his notes, read through scans of his journals to search out a topic he hadn't covered, he couldn't focus, not really. Not until it was done.

Portals were a way of life in their house, what with Yennefer popping in, then out again. Ciri's pops of teleportation were different, but no less jarring at first, Lambert would stumble into the kitchen at midnight only to find the Lady of Time and Space got herself onto the living room couch while she slept, and the resulting bleary confusion scared them both half to death, but she was getting more control. Every day now, she and Yen would pop off to Skellige, to Spikeroog to check on the state of _things_.

It started a week ago. A portal opened in the middle of the library, scattering papers like usual. With a sigh, Tessa and Griffin started gathering them up, both glaring at Yennefer a little. “It's started,” Ciri said and the whole room went still.

Geralt was the first to speak. “How? I thought the window didn't open until... it's not for a few days now.”

“The window isn't open yet, we can't access the tower, but I can feel it—it's shadow. Like it's there, but I can't quite touch it yet.” Ciri closed her eyes and thought back, reaching into her old memories the way Jaskier taught her. The whole room waited in silence. “Gynaevl told me it was layers and layers of magic, it took a whole group of Aen Seidhe elders to agree to it. The first layer is the tower itself: it only exists in our world for one day every seven hundred years, but the veil that covers it gets thinner and thinner until it's accessible. The next layer is the door, it can only be opened with blood, my blood, confirmation that the right kind of person is there to fetch Rhena. Only the Aen Seidhe would know to use the Elder Blood to open it, and they always envisioned themselves rescuing her once they had a better handle on the threat they thought her powers posed for them. The layer after that is the portal at the top of the tower, the one that holds Rhena as she sleeps.” _Where her guard also resides_ , Ciri didn't say, but they all thought it. “As soon as you enter that, the tower will stay present on this plane. It was designed to keep Rhena safe, no one else, it won't close with you inside it.”

Ciri squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to drag every last memory out that she could. “Use my blood to open the door, enter the portal, face whatever's guarding her, then pull Rhena out with you. And now we know it all starts in a few days.”

“Just like we thought,” Eskel whispered. In a way, it was a relief. They got it right, they knew _where_ they had to be, exactly _when_ they had to be there, and _what_ they had to do. As far as contracts went, this one was fairly straight forward.

“You're sure we can't go with you?” Griffin asked.

Geralt shook his head. “No, we can't risk failing again and getting someone else caught in the curse.” It wasn't a question of their skill, they all knew that; Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert had fucked up once before, and they weren't about to do it again, but if things didn't go their way... They couldn't risk anyone else, least of all the only six fully trained Witchers on the Continent.

“Well,” Jaskier said, breaking the tension that settled over the room, “I don't see why that has to stop us from living our normal lives.” He reached down and patted Tessa on the back. “C'mon, flora and fauna time.”

She frowned but followed Jaskier out of the library, leaning into his side, her strong arm wrapped around his ribs just under his arm pit. The girls were all growing like weeds, almost as tall as Ciri by now. “It's okay, Jaskier, they know what they're doing,” she whispered.

Jaskier gave her a squeeze as they walked up the stairs to his music room. The library had become a hub of curse breaking activity of late and wasn't the best for study, and Jaskier found the pups all learned better when he was calmly playing the piano or strumming the guitar as they read through the dusty tomes. “I know, dearest, I've never doubted them.”

Down in the library, Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert knew they weren't supposed to hear the whispered words, but Witcher senses and all that... Three sets of golden eyes all met. In a week's time, they were going to march across Spikeroog, climb a fucking tower, fight an unknowable monster, rescue a woman they should have rescued gods damn centuries ago, and then they were going to come home and make their bard sing.

* * *

The next few days crept by, and then were gone in a blink. Every morning and every evening, Yennefer and Ciri would portal to Spikeroog and update them on the tower Jaskier had come to loathe. He saw it in his dreams almost every night, cold and wet, just waiting for the right moment to swallow his Witchers... _as soon as you enter, the tower will stay present on this plane... it won't close with you inside it_. Jaskier thought about Ciri's words, whispered them to himself at night. His wolves were coming back, they would not be trapped away from him, nothing could separate them, not like that. He didn't know what he was afraid of anymore, he had the utmost confidence in them to finish their final contract, but the cold dread that filled his stomach stayed firmly in place.

The boys took over more chores. “Lambert, I've got training this morning,” Zander said, one eye on Vivi as she and Alvia warmed up before sparring, Tessa already working with the dummy, waiting her turn for a partner. “You should... go see Jaskier, Eskel, Geralt. Just... yeah, you don't have to do training this morning, I've got it.”

Lambert's snarky reply of 'so you want me to go fuck your other mentors? This is what you're saying?' died on his tongue. He nodded his thanks and went back into the house. Upstairs, Stranden was tinkling away on the keyboard in the music room. “I've got the girls after lunch,” he said, voice muffled through the house. “You go be with the others.”

“ _Be_ with them?” Jaskier shot back. “Have you been reading Geralt's old romance novels?” But familiar feet soon stepped across the floorboards and Lambert stood at the bottom of the stairs, arms open. Jaskier saw him and sighed, shaking his head even as he melted into the hug. “Have you been relieved of duty as well?”

“Yup, let's go find Eskel and Geralt, she what flimsy excuse they got.” Arm around Jaskier's shoulders, they fell into step and walked out into the barn, where they found Geralt pushed back into Eskel's desk, several papers strewn across the floor, Eskel's lips locked with his. “Eh-hem,” Lambert cleared his throat, grabbing their attention. “I guess the boys gave you guys the day off too.”

Lips bitten red and kiss swollen, Eskel tried to look a little like he regretted being 'unprofessional,' Geralt simply grinned. “Yeah, Ollie and Griff offered to weed the herb garden for me. First time they've ever done that without serving detention.”

“Mmm, they're good boys, a little... unsubtle.” Eskel ran his nose up Geralt's neck and extended his free arm towards Jaskier and Lambert, waggling his fingers. “I got this big desk for a reason.”

Lambert could never resist the siren call of the pack—his oldest lovers—and tried to pull Jaskier along. Jaskier slipped from his grasp and dropped back to get one of the chairs propped against the wall. “I think I'm in a mood to observe. Show me, you fine educators, teach me something.”

With a feral gleam in their eyes, Eskel and Lambert moved as one, grabbing Geralt and pinning him to the desk. Soon enough, they had his shirt rolled up and his pants pushed down, Lambert licking his pretty ass while Eskel smeared the head of his cock over hungry lips. Jaskier sat back and watched it all, his own cock hard and wanting. Yet there was a cold inside him that wouldn't go away, wouldn't let him join in, like icy rain pouring through his soul.

Only when they finished—cleaning up as best they could—and tripped back into the house, did Jaskier let them tend to him. In the darkness of their room, the softness of their sheets, he could pretend it was just another night, spreading his legs for them to take their turns on him. Yes, it was just another night...

* * *

The night finally came where Ciri and Yennefer returned, their eyes deadly serious. “It's almost fully on this plane. Tomorrow, you'll need to go tomorrow.”

The whole house went still. They took to gathering together these days, more so than before; in years past, two boys might sprawl on the floor while the others were outside playing hide and seek or tag, running through the night like children did, Tessa, Vivi, and Alvia whooping and hollering as they chased after, but they'd been together constantly these last few weeks, never more than a room away. Griffin and Dieter were watching a movie in the other room, a bowl of popcorn between them, Zander and Vivi had the photo albums open, and the rest were playing a very serious game of cards in the middle of the library floor, a melting tub of ice cream with far too many spoons in it nearby. They all stopped their pursuits as soon as Yen spoke, Griff and Dieter drifting in, all eyes suddenly on Jaskier, Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert.

“Right,” Geralt finally said. His hands tensed into fists, then opened again, itching to hold Jaskier, Eskel, or Lambert, to have someone nearby. “Tomorrow. Right.”

Again, the house fell into silence. Jaskier closed his book and stood up, taking Geralt and Lambert's hands in his and nodding towards Eskel to follow. “Griff, Zander, you're in charge tonight. See you all in the morning.” They already ate dinner, there was nothing left to do but make sure teeth got brushed and clean pajamas were found. No one was actually going to get any sleep tonight, but they could pretend, go through the motions.

Jaskier pulled his three Witchers through the house, out the back door towards their bathhouse. The pile of materials left over from Geralt's summer expansion—the garage was now big enough to fit a fucking fleet of cars and half an armory's worth of swords, he was very pleased with himself—sat under a tarp off to the side, but even the clutter still brought Jaskier a bit of peace. The bathhouse was their little oasis of calm in the busy chaos of their lives, a bit of chaos spilling over now and again made it feel even more fitting.

The door opened and they flicked on the lights, the clean blue tiles meeting their eyes, familiar, comforting. There were no monsters in here, no responsibilities, just warm, clean water and enough bath products to fill a whole shop, all of them meant for spoiling and treating scarred bodies to the care they deserved. Jaskier stripped off, or tried to, hands bumped against his and lips slid up his neck. “Let me,” Lambert whispered. “What do you want tonight?”

“The shower, to start.”

Already naked, Geralt went over to the hanging shower head and turned on the water, testing it with his hand until it was the perfect temperature. He stood under the spray and opened his arms. Lambert finished pulling Jaskier out of his clothes—slow, but not overly so, more about the feel of his hands on Jaskier's skin than the strip tease of it—and nudged him into Geralt's arms as Eskel tended to Lambert's clothes, then his own.

Geralt squeezed him into a hug before dropping to his knees. Hard tile was nothing to a Witcher, and he sucked Jaskier's already half-hard cock between his lips as the human rinsed his hair under the soft spray. “Mmm, that feels lovely.”

“Good,” Geralt mumbled, then got back to work.

Eskel and Lambert were naked now too, and stepped under the spray, Lambert's firm chest pressed to Jaskier's back. Eskel stood next to Geralt, one hand carding through his hair, the other around the base of his cock, offering it.

Geralt pulled off Jaskier to lick across the head of Eskel's cock before switching back, now trying to give them an equal amount of attention. As plump lips slid down his shaft, Jaskier leaned back into Lambert, extending his neck for whatever the wolf wanted to do with it. He did not disappoint—they never did—and low growls began to vibrate through Jaskier's chest as Lambert nibbled and sicked on tender skin.

This was how it went most nights (when they actually had time and energy to make love) the four of them wound together in one configuration or another, sometimes Eskel had a hard day and they lavished attention on him, or maybe Geralt needed an extra cuddle. Their love was never complicated or difficult, they all knew how to slide into place, and with Geralt on his knees between Jaskier and Eskel, Lambert wrapped around, they all fit together perfectly.

Eskel stepped away and returned with a bottle of shampoo, quickly working up a lather and combing his fingers through Geralt's hair. A low moan from Geralt vibrated up Jaskier's cock and sent his eyes rolling back into his head. He wasn't ready to come yet and pulled out, resting his cock along Geralt's cheek as Eskel continued to wash his hair.

“Pretty sure he's clean enough,” Lambert mumbled into Jaskier neck as he placed another love bite. Jaskier let his good wolf bite and mouth at him, needing that claim as much as Lambert did right now, leaning back and moaning with every nip and suck.

“Yeah, but I still like it,” Eskel said, retrieving more shampoo. He stroked it through Geralt's hair, eyes soft as he watched suds rinse down his back, making the White Wolf even more so as he nuzzled Jaskier's cock, licking at Eskel's every other moment or so.

Lambert picked up their bottle of shower massage oil—something Jaskier bought thinking it was a gimmick but ended up loving—and poured some into his hands, rubbing the tension out of Jaskier's shoulders. It only took a few minutes of strong hands on him for Jaskier to gasp out, “Enough, I want... I need you inside of me.”

Turning, Jaskier pulled Lambert down with him, and Eskel followed, until they were all kneeling under the shower spray, the water cascading down around them. The tiles were too hard for human knees but Jaskier was determined, and they weren't about it stop him. Unblinking eyes looked up at him, drops of water clinging to Lambert's eyelashes as he went on his back for Jaskier. “Geralt,” was all Jaskier had to say as he straddled Lambert. A blink of an eye later and lube slick fingers brushed across his hole, pressing inside and stretching him. Wide, scarred hands touched him everywhere and Jaskier closed his eyes, feeling more than seeing.

The first cock that pushed at his slick, open hole was probably Lambert's, judging by the way he moaned, hands tightening as they held Jaskier's hips. “You feel so fucking good,” he whispered, thrusting a few times, slow and deep. Jaskier dropped his head, wet hair clinging his his face, drops running from his lips down onto Lambert's.

After a moment to get used to the new girth inside of him, Geralt's fingers returned, opening Jaskier slowly, but steadily. They'd done this before, and Jaskier loved it, whether it was Eskel and Geralt sharing him, Eskel and Geralt sharing Lambert, or Lambert under him while someone else took care of all the moving parts for them, Jaskier loved having two of his Witchers inside of him. They'd only tried all three with Lambert, the stretch might very well be too much for his poor human body...

But that was a plan to consider later, when they returned to him.

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut tighter, pushing the thoughts of tomorrow to the back of his mind where they belonged. Another cockhead brushed his hole and slowly pushed in, adding to the delicious fullness inside of him. Geralt's thighs brushed the back of his ass and they all released a sigh. Eskel moved in closer, one hand stroking Jaskier's back while his lips captured Geralt's, biting them rosy red.

Lambert under him, Geralt and Eskel behind him, two cocks inside of him, Jaskier let himself go. All his thoughts poured away, only the pleasure sparking through his body and the warm water raining down over him held his attention. Not the cold rain of a muddy hill Jaskier had never set foot on, making him shake and shiver with fear, but a gentle, warm shower, a bucket tipped over his head in the Kaer Morhen hot springs so very long ago, hair plastered to his face, drops falling from his lips onto Lambert's...

Geralt began to move, Lambert holding tight to Jaskier's hips, trying to anchor himself as well. It was always more... intense like this, even for a Witcher, almost a thousand years of sex behind them, and they could still be overwhelmed, it just went to prove the humanity Jaskier always saw within them.

Jaskier didn't feel his orgasm building, and it didn't slam into him like what sometimes happened when all his wolves were touching him. It was a gradual wave that began in his chest before curling down to his hips, making his cock jerk and his balls twitch up tight, then traveled down his thighs, making him shake. All his muscles seemed to contract at once and he pulled Geralt and Lambert over with him, Eskel's moan coming a second later as he took himself in hand and spilled across Geralt.

They were already on their knees, and the shower quickly washed any mess away. Eskel, the most together of all of them, gathered his mates from the floor and pushed them over to the large soaking tub, filling it for them. Muscles a little sore, knees a little bruised, Jaskier melted back into Geralt's chest, opening his legs to make room for Lambert to snuggle in close. Eskel climbed in as well, sniffing them all before making himself comfortable. They'd fuck again, no doubt, after drying off and all but carrying Jaskier and Lambert back to the house, Eskel would use his fingers and tongue to make Lambert sing while Jaskier rode Geralt until they both couldn't keep their eyes open.

With any luck, they'd set out tomorrow and find their path unmarred by rain and mud, no monsters guarding the sleeping prophet they had to rescue... but Jaskier very much doubted their luck would hold out.

* * *

Geralt frowned as he tightened the last buckle. It was a sweet gesture, Dieter and Ollie spent all last winter working on their own Wolf School armor and also repaired their mentor's armor. It was meant to be good practice for them, and a chance to see their fathers in their full glory once again... and now they donned it to fix the thing they selfishly left broken.

“Conditions shouldn't need to be so _exact_ , but it doesn't hurt.” Yennefer cast an eye over them all, Lambert with his black leather and brown cross hatching, Eskel's red gambeson, and Geralt's layers of black, all lovingly remade a hundred times over as they marched through time. She handed them the xenovox and Geralt tucked it away next to the vial of Ciri's blood, they all carried one just in case of accidents. “I'll be monitoring Spikeroog, anything magical happens on that island, I'll know about it. Still, if you need to reach me...”

“Got it, thanks Yen. For everything.”

She nodded and stepped back. The tower fully manifested on Spikeroog just before dawn and the whole house was gathered around the three Witchers. They couldn't help it, after years of talking through contracts, planning together, the boys couldn't stay away as they watched their mentors go off, and the girls couldn't sleep. So here they stood, all eyes on them. They didn't want a drawn out goodbye, didn't want it to feel like they were saying goodbye forever, they couldn't... none of them could handle that. They knew what they had to do, now they just had to fucking get it done.

Geralt broke and yanked Jaskier into a tight hug, Lambert and Eskel joining him a second later. Crushed between his wolves, Jaskier let out a shaky breath. “You can do this, I believe in you.”

“Thank you.” Elbowing Lambert, Geralt pulled them all back and they walked towards the hall, where Yen would open the portal. Geralt glared at each of the boys for a long second, before nodding. “Take care of them.” _We'll be back_ , he bit his tongue before the words could form. No promises, that's how they got into this in the first place. But they were coming back, that was for fucking certain.

All six boys nodded and swarmed around Jaskier, Tessa, Vivi and Alvia, holding the not-so-little girls close, keeping them back from the swirl of the portal. Magic crackled through the house and they all watched Yen open the portal, watched Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert step inside...

They were gone.

There was always a howling sort of silence left behind after a portal closed. The magic pressing against every sense, stinging the eyes, buffeting the ear drums... once it was gone, the vacuum it left seemed to almost scream for a moment. Jaskier thought he'd gotten used to it, what with Yen and Ciri's constant traveling and magic lessons, but as soon as he watched the loves of _two_ of his lives disappear through yet another fucking portal, Jaskier found he couldn't stand the emptiness.

“They'll be back,” he said. “They'll be back.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt looked down at his feet and sighed. “This is as far as we got last time. Fucking curse is trying to freeze that as well.” Closing his eyes, Geralt rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and flexed his fingers, moving every part of his body, freeing it from the pull of time. Blue eyes and soft lips filled his mind, surrounded by strong arms and rough, scarred hands. More eyes started appearing, more blue, and some brown, green with little freckles over pink cheeks, long blonde hair pulled back into a braid woven by patient, crooked fingers... His pack, his family. He took a step forward. Then another. Eskel and Lambert followed, as they always would, marching towards the door they once turned away from

Rain. Fucking rain. It was supposed to be midmorning. They woke together in bed, wrapped around Jaskier and each other, to the sound of Yennefer portaling in. “It's time! It's fully manifested!” Geralt tried not to squeeze Jaskier tighter and failed, holding hard enough to bruise tender human skin already covered with love bites.

They showered and dressed, their armor waiting for them in the hall closet, set there by Ollie and Dieter. They put it together as a present, restoring it to full glory, but they never thought it would come to any actual use. Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert didn't take contracts anymore, the armor was supposed to be for practice, for showing off when the girls graduated from training swords and actually started hitting with their newly built muscles. But now their armor would see battle for—hopefully—the last time.

It was bright and warm when they left Toussaint, the autumn chill just creeping in. Spikeroog was cold and dark, exactly like it was on the night they failed.

Mud squished under their boots and Lambert frowned. “Fucking locked in time... locked in the same moment.”

“Seems so.” Eskel was more resigned about the whole thing. He probably expected it. Geralt was on Lambert's side though, fuck literal spells dumping rain on him—the same rain that tormented his daughter and one of his mates for the better part of a year. Fuck it all.

“Let's get this done,” he grunted, and they started the trudge up the muddy hill.

There was a light at the top of the tower, peeking through a window like a beacon guiding them. Geralt remembered that light from the last time they climbed this hill. They'd finish it this time, there was no doubt. With Eskel at his right hand, Lambert at his left, Geralt moved forward, the tip of the spear, ready to launch themselves at that tower and pull their target to safety after far too long.

Halfway up, Geralt stopped, a pressure in his stomach like a hook behind his navel pulling him back. Eskel and Lambert stopped immediately, their eyes flicking around before settling on Geralt. “What is it?” Eskel shouted over the sound of the storm.

Geralt looked down at his feet and sighed. “This is as far as we got last time. Fucking curse is trying to freeze that as well.” Closing his eyes, Geralt rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and flexed his fingers, moving every part of his body, freeing it from the pull of time. Blue eyes and soft lips filled his mind, surrounded by strong arms and rough, scarred hands. More eyes started appearing, more blue, and some brown, green with little freckles over pink cheeks, long blonde hair pulled back into a braid woven by patient, crooked fingers... His pack, his family. He took a step forward. Then another. Eskel and Lambert followed, as they always would, marching towards the door they once turned away from.

The door itself was nothing remarkable, thick wood with an iron handle, and the three grooves Jaskier and Ciri described, two diagonal lines pointing down to a third that led to a deep well carved into the wood, a well for Ciri's blood. Eskel bristled next to him. “Yeah, there's magic here. A fuck ton of it.” They all felt their medallions vibrating, but Eskel's word was worth more after all these years.

“Perfect,” Lambert grumbled. “Nothing good every comes in 'fuck ton.'”

Geralt said nothing and removed the vial of Ciri's blood from his bag. Eskel drew his silver sword, Lambert his steel, and they stood at Geralt's flanks, ready for whatever might pop out of that door as soon as they activated the lock.

Geralt poured half the blood into the first groove, the other half into the second. If Eskel couldn't feel the magic, they could fucking see it now, as the deep, red liquid froze in place. He capped the vial and only then did it start to flow, two even rivers meeting and dripping down, filling the well with the Elder Blood, the only blood strong enough to bind the gateway to a dimension between dimensions.

There was a crack of lightning and the door cracked open. Geralt jumped back, Lambert and Eskel moving with him, his hand twitching to his sword now. The door didn't move again, no creature burst out from behind it to challenge them for disturbing its slumber, nothing. They released a collective breath and took a moment to ready themselves. Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt saw Eskel's fingers twitch, ready to make any Sign he needed. Eskel probably didn't need the gesture anymore, as magic flowed through him as deep as any mage, but old habits died hard.

On his other side, Lambert filled his empty hand with a dagger and Geralt smiled; Vesemir hated that Lambert liked to use two weapons sometimes, “What if you need to use a Sign!” the old Wolf grumbled at them.

Lambert always shrugged. “I've dropped a sword to punch a bastard in the face, no reason I can't drop the blade to wiggle my fingers.”

With his brothers at his sides, Geralt opened the door.

The staircase behind was so benign as to be boring. There was a torch flickering a few steps up, and more light, magic obviously, no torch stayed lit for fourteen hundred years... and yet there was no creature to jump out at them. No guard snarling that they needed to face him in combat or die for their trespass. They all held their tension though, prepared for any battle.

“Probably inside the portal,” Eskel reminded them. Yes, that's what they'd expected: something deep and dark lurking in the world between worlds, something so tightly wound with Chaos that it could survive like that without being in the magically induced sleep like Rhena.

“Right, let's go. After you, pretty boy,” Lambert said.

With a small smile, Geralt started the climb up the spiral steps. Jaskier and Ciri only saw this far—door opening, the stairs leading upwards, then nothing more—so they were truly on their own now. _No_ , the little voice in the back of Geralt's head whispered, the voice that sounded like Vesemir the older he got, _you have your pack waiting, sorceress watching, they'll keep you safe_.

They climbed the stairs, the last three Wolf Witchers of Kaer Morhen, their pups and their pack and their mate waiting for them to return.

Despite the magic radiating through the walls—even Lambert and Geralt felt it, their medallions vibrating under their gambesons, Eskel practically twitching with it—the stairs were utterly normal. They didn't go on forever, an illusion to keep them trapped. There was a broken step half way up that they all stepped over, then paused, expecting a trap to spring... When nothing happened, they carried on, the anxiety flowing through them coiling tighter and tighter the longer they went without obstacle.

The door at the top of the stairs was just a door, no blood offering required, but the glow of the portal seeped through the cracks and Geralt stepped back, letting Eskel through to double check. He heard Lambert shift behind them and felt another strong back against his, the youngest wolf guarding their backs.

Running gloved fingers over the wood, Eskel poked, prodded and then finally knocked. None of them fucking expected the, “Enter!” that met them and they all tensed again.

“The fuck,” Eskel growled, sword raised again, it was tight with all three of them in the same passage way, but they had centuries of practice fitting together, moving together, fighting whatever came at them.

“Enter!” the voice said again. It wasn't a shout, but it seemed to fill the whole tower. A simple, firm message: _get in here, Witchers, I'm tired of waiting_.

Eskel fell back again, letting Geralt through. His fingers stayed steady as he pushed open the door, revealing the swirling portal. He took a breath. “The last step,” he said, so low he wasn't sure if they could hear him over the storm still raging outside and the sucking, growling of the magic. With his head held high, Geralt walked into the portal, Eskel and Lambert right behind him.

* * *

It was Triss, not Yennefer who watched over Jaskier the first time Geralt and the others went to fulfill their last contract, and Yennefer couldn't help but think Triss—the gods rest her—got the better end of this deal. An elderly Jaskier who mostly slept, asking few questions and otherwise making pleasant conversation despite his end rapidly approaching, sounded worlds better than the younger, spry version currently pacing through every room in the house.

The moment the portal closed, the children sprang into action. Tessa and Alvia had clearly organized in advance, as they both pounced at the same time, each grabbing Jaskier's hands and trying to pull him towards the living room. “Let's watch a movie!” Tessa said, she just hit her growth spurt and came up to Jaskier's shoulder, add in her muscles from training and it wasn't difficult for her to move him, especially with Alvia nudging Jaskier along too.

“Lambert said training was canceled, and we still have some of the cheesecake Eskel made. Let's eat it and watch a movie,” Alvia said. For the longest time, she'd been the tallest, but now all three girls were growing, soon they'd be big enough to move him without asking... Jaskier decided it was best to follow their lead at the moment.

Zander was at their sides, also directing Jaskier. One Witcher and two Witchers in training bent on moving him, Jaskier didn't stand a chance. He sat on the couch, accepted the plate of cheesecake that was forced into his hands (didn't say anything about it being eight in the morning and far too early for such treats) and let the children put on one of the dozens of westerns Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert had watched to death. He ate the cheesecake as black and white cowboys raced across the screen, shooting blank film bullets at each other in some part of the Zerrikanian desert. But as soon as it was time to take his empty plate to the kitchen, Jaskier did not return to the couch. He paced around the living room, smiling and nodding when Alvia asked if he was okay, when Zander asked if he needed anything.

“I don't need anything,” he lied. They all knew it was a lie, he needed the three Witchers that Yennefer had just portaled halfway across the world, but he couldn't have them, not until they were done.

They let him abandon the movie halfway through and a few more children swooped in, Ciri, Griffin and Clay this time. They bundled him over to the piano, penning him in on the bench, guitar in Clay's hands. “I've been home a month and you haven't played with me. Let me show you what I've been working on...”

He played a silly ballad about chasing a swamp hag through elven ruins that made everyone smile, getting a small chuckle from Jaskier too. Long fingered hands danced across the piano as he played along, picking up the tune easily. Again, it didn't take him long to find an excuse to get up. “I have something in the music room for you, be back in a moment.”

Yennefer watched Jaskier walk up the stairs, heard the old floors creaking as he walked to the music room, then stopped... he walked back down the hall again, and again, starting to pace, his heart beat speeding up a little. Though she was no Witcher, Yennefer heard his panic loud and clear.

The day went on like that, one group of children would grab Jaskier and pull him into an activity to get his mind off of things, he'd humor them, then find some excuse to go off on his own, pacing the old floors, walking into the kitchen before leaving again, and repeating the same process with the library. Griffin was the one to gather everyone else into the living room, spreading blankets and pillows across the floor the way they did in the deepest parts of winter, a habit learned from wolves used to the cold of a mountain keep. “Leave him be,” he said as he sat on the couch and pulled Ollie against his chest. “Someone put on a new movie. He'll come down when he's ready.”

Yennefer spent most of her day on the outskirts of their little family bonding rituals. She went over to speak with Ciri a few times, but mostly stayed in the library, her attention completely focused on Spikeroog. She felt the moment Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert landed, felt them climb the hill, uncork the vial of Elder Blood and activate the lock... She could've told Jaskier, but such information might bother him more than help, and Yennefer wasn't that cruel anymore. Watching Jaskier work with Ciri, take her through old memories and teach her how to manage them made her soften to the man. Well, she softened to him a long time ago, the moment he stepped into her rooms at Aretuza and Yennefer saw the warm glow of happiness coming from Geralt. He hadn't been truly happy in centuries, and now the bright, soft emotion poured from him like water over the falls. No, Yennefer could never be cruel to the man who brought her daughter's father back from the cold of eternity.

Yennefer felt the moment they stepped into the portal, the moment her magic could no longer follow them. She didn't tell anyone, she didn't want to worry them, and they went about their day of distractions.

It was barely sunset, Jaskier poured himself a glass of wine and was mostly holding it, sipping occasionally as he paced through the house. Clay managed to tempt him into more music earlier and now they were all watching what felt like the tenth western with exactly the same plot, look, and actors. That was Geralt's movie collection for you, as predictable and constant as the man himself.

Jaskier stopped one of his pacing spells and went to the library where Yen had sequestered herself. Only the small desk lamp on one of the reading tables was on, mimicking the late night candle light of old, the dimness they all sort of missed. “Yennefer,” Jaskier whispered, voice low, too low for the Witchers in the other room to hear. “I—do you... do you have anything to help me sleep?” He took a breath, voice shaking for the first time that day, tears tight in his throat. He'd put on a brave face for them all, but let himself start to fray before Yennefer, a large amount of trust. “I know they'll be fine, they'll come back, but I can't—I can't wait anymore. Anything you can do, please.”

“Of course.” Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a small vial. In truth, she'd planned to slip the sleeping tonic to Jaskier that night at dinner, but having his permission was so much better, she scrapped the mental apology she'd been running through for after Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert returned.

He held the wine out towards her and watched her pour the tonic in. Swirling the glass to stir it in, Jaskier tipped his head back and downed the entire glass in one gulp. “Thank you,” he said, lips smacking together.

Yennefer couldn't help the small, breathy laugh. “Didn't know you were going to take it that quick. Better get to bed before you pass out and your sons have to carry you, I'm sure you don't want them seeing the things in your bedroom.”

“No I do not.” Eyes already drooping closed, Jaskier walked back out into the hall, hand fumbling for the bedroom door knob. “Tell them I've gone to sleep, I don't want them to worry.” Yennefer nodded and watched Jaskier open the door. He paused, turning back to her. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he struggled through it. “As soon as they're back, you'll wake me?”

“Of course. The moment they arrive.” Yennefer made it a point not to make any promises, but this one she'd easily give. Jaskier helped her daughter navigate her way through two lives worth of memories, something no one else could do, it was easy to promise him this small favor.

“Thank you.” Jaskier handed her the empty wine glass before disappearing into the bedroom.

The door closed behind him, closing him in darkness, the sounds of the house dimmed now. Kicking off his slippers, Jaskier managed to get his jeans off before collapsing into the bed. Whatever that fucking sleeping tonic was, it sure as hell worked. Jaskier's mind was racing all day, filled with possibilities he didn't want to think about, all he wanted was the quiet of sleep. Even his nightmares might be better at this point, at least he knew what to expect from those.

Jaskier closed his eyes, hoping the next time he opened them, gold would peer back at him.

* * *

Geralt had done too much dimension hopping in his days, far, far too much. Despite that, he never got used to the feeling of it, the way the walls of every new dimension pushed on him, trying to send him back to his own world. Finally he broke through and the pressure released all at once, leaving an aching head and a queasy stomach. At his side, Lambert was doubled over, clearly not used to any of this bullshit. Eskel looked fine, no worse for the wear, not even the crossed eyes and green tinge to his skin that Geralt felt in himself.

“You shoulda been a mage,” he grumbled, mind a little... he needed a moment to get himself together.

Eskel smirked. “If I was, who'd be here to keep you idiots safe for eight fucking centuries?”

“Flirt later, figure this out now,” Lambert grumbled. He recovered a little, standing up straight, but he looked as green as Geralt felt. “Now where's this fucking guardian?”

They all focused their attention on where exactly that portal dropped them. Light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, it was bright, but not so bright as to blind them, and though the place was clearly magical, the floor had the slight pattern of brickwork. The walls swirled and roared like the portal they just walked through, and yet all was quiet here, no sounds other than the low breathing of a woman asleep in the bed on the other side of the room, and the quicker, slightly heavier breath of the man who sat at her bedside, one of her tiny hands held between both of his.

The man—an Aen Seidhe like Rhena—wore armor. It was clean, clearly well taken care of, but old. Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert wore replicas of their old armor for this last contract, but the elf's was even older than that, the leather plain and un-dyed, no delicate decorative leaf work like other Aen Seidhe warriors. He wore a simple padded gambeson underneath and his sword leaned against the end of the bed, far out of his reach. What kind of guardian left their weapon out of reach?

He kept his eyes on Rhena, even as three Witchers stood so close, their swords drawn. “I have a feeling you are very late,” he said. “But I don't know how late.”

Geralt's mouth went dry. They expected beasts, monsters, wraiths strong enough to bleed through dimensions, bound here in protection of the Aen Seidhe navigator. They didn't expect a solitary knight watching at her bedside. How did you fight a man like that? Who was so clearly devoted to his charge, whether keeping her from them, or simply keeping her safe, Geralt didn't know. He swallowed, trying to find the words. “Yes. Our apologies for that, we were meant to come last time, but...”

“We failed,” Eskel said. “We're here now. Will you come with us?” Lambert eyed them both, arching an eyebrow that screamed _we're just going to ask? That's the plan?_ Yes, that apparently was the plan.

The elf smiled, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in centuries. “Yes, yes we will.” Standing from his chair, he leaned down and pushed Rhena's hair from her face, brushing his lips against her forehead. “En'ca minne, it's time to wake. We're going back to the Continent.”

Bright green eyes fluttered open and Rhena looked up at her protector. “Going back?” she muttered, sleep still curling around her words.

“Yes, they sent Witchers for us, to bring you back to the world.”

Rhena nodded and sat up, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting him pull her to his chest, cradled like a bride. As the sheets and blankets that had covered her for who knows how long fell away, she smiled, placing a kiss beneath the other elf's jaw. “Let's see what waits for us this time.”

Sheathing their swords, the Witchers made way. This is what they came here for, to rescue Rhena, and her guardian apparently, a guardian they all counted on fighting to prove that they were worthy to collect her. “Wait,” Lambert said. “You're... you're just going to come with us? Just like that? No trials or tests? We could be anyone.”

Lambert was right, it didn't sit well. Why use so much magic, so many layers of spells to seal her away—to make sure the Aen Elle could never get her and use her powers for their own—and no final test to make sure Rhena was going into the correct hands?

The Aen Seidhe smiled. “The tests were all on the outside. You knew when we'd be here, that secret was trusted to only a few. You came to open the lock with Elder Blood freely given, not coerced or stolen away, so you would always be an ally.”

Geralt pursed his lips. “Hmm, when you put it like that.” So long ago, Gynaevl fen Daetre did tell Ciri his family was part of the effort to lock Rhena away, the way to find her closely guarded...

“Why?” he asked with a laugh. “What did you expect?”

“We're Witchers,” Eskel said. “We always expect the worst.”

“Tor,” Rhena said, her head lolling against the other elf's shoulder. “Please, I want to leave this place.”

“Yes, we should go.” Making sure she was secure in his arms, the elf—Tor, apparently—nodded towards the portal they entered through. “Lead on, Witchers.”

Lambert paused to fetch Tor's sword from where it rested at the end of the bed, he tried to protest, claiming he wouldn't need it anymore, but Lambert shook his head. “You don't leave beautiful steel behind.”

“A small warning,” Eskel said, taking in the gossamer nightdress that wrapped around Rhena, and her bare feet. Fourteen hundred years asleep, readjusting to life might be... difficult, in so many ways. “It's not that pleasant outside, rain, mud, do you have anything else to wear?”

Rhena smiled, her ash blond hair cascading down over Tor's shoulder like a cloak of light, sleepy eyes blinking back to attention. “I haven't seen rain or mud with my own eyes in so very long. I think I'd like to experience it again.”

And with that in mind, they walked out of the portal, back to the world. Geralt went first, Rhena and Tor following, Eskel and Lambert arm in arm bringing up the rear. As the portal closed behind them and their feet touched the solid stone of the tower, all three Witchers braced; how many times had they finished a job, gone to walk out of the cave or temple or cursed mansion only to have the place shake apart around them? But nothing happened. The steps were as solid as when they first climbed them, the door at the base of the stairs was still there, not blown to splinters.

They stepped out into the open to find the rain had slowed, no longer a torrential downpour with back skies and winds that threatened to push them into the sea, but a gentle sprinkle with a light breeze. The dark clouds had rolled away, revealing the setting sun to bathe the world in orange and gold. Rhena took a deep breath of the fresh air. “Let's go.”

Geralt didn't even need to reach for the xenovox, a portal opened for them seconds after Rhena spoke. Still a little green from traveling through the last portal, Lambert took a breath and headed forward, taking the lead, Rhena and Tor behind him, Eskel next, and Geralt bringing up the rear, their final contract fulfilled at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> En'ca minne is "little love," or "darling" in Elder.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier had a very long year to think this all over, studying the nature of curses whenever they weren't trying to figure out what waited for them in that blasted tower, and immortality seemed to be one of those curses that was meant to teach a lesson. Avaricious lords who desired wealth and power to be theirs forever, only to learn that the shine of gold was fleeting; those who didn't want their beauty to ever fade finding themselves left behind by the flow of time, suddenly ugly when seen by new eyes... His Witchers had no such vices and until very recently, Jaskier might have accused this curse of being fucking unfair to his wolves, who had done no wrong... But maybe there was something to finally sharing their knowledge with the world, making sure it wasn't locked away behind the walls Geralt built high and strong to protect them, or inside Lambert's too clever brain for the rest of eternity.

Jaskier liked to think he was good at hiding his nightmares from his partners, or at least, hiding his reactions to the nightmares. As usual though, Jaskier was adorably incorrect. Even after he came clean about what the dreams were exactly, he still tossed and turned, jerking between them in bed, small moans of fear and pain falling from his lips. Lambert was always there to curl tight around him as Eskel and Geralt exchanged a look in the darkness.

Several lifetimes of dealing with nightmares—soft words and softer touches when someone woke in a cold sweat, their eyes wide, or changing sheets in the middle of the night for the pups when tears and snot ruined their pillows and made the discomfort that much worse—they were good at gently moving Jaskier around the bed from one set of strong arms to another. He woke when he woke, sometimes shocking him out of it was worse than letting the dream run its course.

As Geralt opened the door to their bedroom, rain water still dripping from his armor, he couldn't help the sigh that pushed passed his lips at the sight of Jaskier sprawled across their bed, face smooth, mouth parted, not a single flicker of pain to be found. Breaking curses had almost as many side effects as letting them run their course—Geralt had a scar on his neck from a striga to remind him of that fact—and saving Rhena was worth the effort, but finally banishing Jaskier and Ciri's nightmares? It made the victory that much sweeter.

Geralt closed the door behind him and removed his wet gloves. Jaskier managed to kick off his slippers and throw his jeans on the floor before falling face first into the pillows, searching out the scent of their pack. Geralt nearly growled at Yennefer when she told him about the sleeping tonic. “He asked!” she said, eyes gliding over all of them—checking for injuries—before straying to Rhena and her unexpected guardian—more like body guard. “He asked for something to help him sleep through it.”

“And you just happened to have it ready?” Geralt growled. He could address the poor impression in front of their guests later, Ciri was fine, the pups were all happy to have their teachers and fathers back, and now he needed to see Jaskier, tell him it was finally done.

Violet eyes rolled skyward and Geralt suppressed another growl; how many times had he seen Yennefer give that look to impatient customers, or to him when she thought he was being particularly thick? “Of course I had it ready, we've been talking about this non-stop for a year! I prepared a number of things should Jaskier need them. Have you forgotten that I actually don't want to see any of you in pain anymore?” The anger bled out of Geralt as quickly as it had appeared and Yennefer waved away his words of apology before he could even think them. “He'll wake as soon as one of you touches him. Go, we'll get Rhena settled.”

Geralt left them to it, eyes catching Eskel and Lambert. “I'll be right back.”

Geralt sat on the bed now, simply looking down at Jaskier, strong, pale thighs on display, the delicate back of his knees, and his calves, ankles and feet, toes dangling off the edge of the bed. He'd seen Jaskier like this any number of times, midnight grading clad in only a t-shirt, stocking feet rubbing against the floor as he sucked on the end of his pen, or when an idea for a composition, or another anecdote for one of his books struck and he bounded out of bed half dressed, rifling through his notes as they all grumbled at him to come back. Geralt had touched this body in so many ways, and now his touch would wake Jaskier into a world without nightmares of rain and mud and an impossible tower that looked ready to swallow his mates. But here they were, back safe and sound, and it was time for Jaskier to wake into that world.

Gently placing the palm of his hand on the back of Jaskier's thigh, Geralt squeezed. Eyebrows twitched, wakefulness coming slowly. “Jaskier, we're back.”

He held his breath as blue eyes fluttered open, long dark lashes framing them so perfectly. “Geralt?” Sleep vanished from Jaskier as soon as he registered the name he just said. “Geralt!” It wasn't a large space to cross, but Jaskier threw himself into Geralt's arms with all his strength, he'd hugged them in their armor before, the poking metal bits and the hard leather didn't bother him, he needed to hold his Witcher. “Geralt! Fuck, you're back.”

“Yes, we're back.” Geralt rocked them a little, threading his fingers through Jaskier's hair and kissing his earlobe, his neck, some of his favorite soft spots on their lark. “It was fine, tell you more later, promise.”

“Fine? How... Alright, yes, later,” he mumbled, distracted as his hands roved over Geralt, making sure he was really there, it wasn't another dream.

Jaskier did not let go of him and Geralt smirked. “Rhena is waiting for us, they're staying until we can find somewhere for them to go.”

“Mmm, yes. They?” Jaskier was so distracted by the sight, smell and feel of Geralt close once again, his mind took a second to catch up to the words. “They? Who else?”

“Let's just say the _thing_ guarding Rhena was more of a who, an Aen Seidhe who was more than happy to see us.”

Jaskier sighed, his shoulders slumping. “So her guardian was an actual guardian? That's... I'm relieved. All year, I thought I was sending you three into a monster den.”

“You've done that before.”

“Yes, and I always hated it.” Resting their foreheads together, Jaskier tried to pull Geralt closer. He didn't care about the wet, muddy armor, he didn't care that the rest of their family and two new guests were probably waiting for them, Jaskier needed to fucking hold tight to Geralt at the moment, Eskel and Lambert too as soon as he got his hands on them.

Geralt shifted, his hands petting up Jaskier's back. “We should go.”

“Two minutes, give me two minutes and I'll... two minutes.” Jaskier crushed Geralt closer, pushing his face into his hair. It was wet and stringy and probably smelled like wet dog but he didn't fucking care. Jaskier went to sleep not knowing if his Witchers were still on the same plane of existence as he was, and now he awoke to one of them smiling down at him, totally unharmed. He... he needed a moment.

Geralt held tight, closing his eyes and feeling the _thump-thump-thump_ of Jaskier's oh so human heart, finally resting after a fuck of a year.

Jaskier on the other hand, couldn't close his eyes. He didn't want to look away from that white hair, those lips, the scars he knew so well, he never wanted to look away again. Pulling back only far enough to exit the hug and crush their lips together, Jaskier kissed Geralt so deep, neither of them could breathe, tears welling in his eyes. It wasn't the most artful thing, his tongue was more frantic than teasing, trying to lick every part of Geralt's mouth at once, and their noses bumped together a little, teeth clacking, but Jaskier needed it, he needed to know Geralt was back with him, the others as well.

It took all of Geralt's strength to pull Jaskier away, at the moment, it seemed easier to remove a limb than to stop kissing him, but they needed to. Resting their foreheads together, Geralt sighed. “Later, you can kiss and inspect us all later, right now we need to... there are things to iron out.”

Jaskier blinked. “Yes, yes, I'm sorry. I'll get dressed. But I need a moment to... fuck, I must look awful. Tell me about our guests, please. I at least want to pretend to be a good host.”

Indulging him (because Geralt would always indulge Jaskier) he followed him to the bathroom and watched as he splashed water on his face, erasing the evidence of the relieved tears. Still clad in only a shirt and briefs, Geralt also took the moment to appreciate the body he feared, deep, deep down, that he might not come back to. “Rhena and her guard?” Jaskier prompted when it seemed Geralt was too lost in thought.

“Yes, Rhena and Tor. Both Aen Seidhe. He sat by her side, awake, while they waited for us...” Though he wanted to watch Jaskier dry his face and fluff his hair—ever the performer, he would never show a guest less than his best—his shoulders started to slump, curling in on himself. The look on Tor's face when he saw them, sweet relief; he was Rhena's protector, but he was waiting for deliverance as well, something they failed on the first time. “Fourteen hundred years of devotion, sitting with her, waiting, and we...” A low growl built in his chest and he wanted to slam his fist against the door frame in his frustration, but Geralt knew those soft eyes were looking at him now. “It was easy, fucking _easy_. He was waiting for us. If we'd just fulfilled the contract the first time, none of this would have happened. We wouldn't have—”

Geralt looked up and Jaskier was there, instrument calloused fingers brushing his jaw, eyes bright and no longer red with tears. “He probably knew what he was signing up for when he agreed to sit by her side. You however, did not. You didn't know what you were waiting for, he did.” Resting their foreheads together, Jaskier ached to kiss him, but then they'd be even longer before they actually showed their faces at the celebration probably building in their library. “I will be the first to lament that you three had to march through time not knowing why, but at least you had each other. And now you have your family. I think the world is better for the fact that you three had more time to figure yourselves out.”

Jaskier had a very long year to think this all over, studying the nature of curses whenever they weren't trying to figure out what waited for them in that blasted tower (one very tired Aen Seidhe, by the sound of it) and immortality seemed to be one of those curses that was meant to teach a lesson. Avaricious lords who desired wealth and power to be theirs forever, only to learn that the shine of gold was fleeting; those who didn't want their beauty to ever fade finding themselves left behind by the flow of time, suddenly ugly when seen by new eyes... His Witchers had no such vices and until very recently, Jaskier might have accused this curse of being fucking unfair to his wolves, who had done no wrong... But maybe there was something to finally sharing their knowledge with the world, making sure it wasn't locked away behind the walls Geralt built high and strong to protect them, or inside Lambert's too clever brain for the rest of eternity.

Jaskier would no doubt spend many, many nights debating this with Eskel, whether the world needed more Witchers and was too stupid to realize, or if the Witchers in turn needed the world to remind them of their purpose, but that was a conversation for another time. By botching the contract the first time around, not trusting in their own skills, they then had time to share those skills and watch them get put to use, see their legacy unfold before them, not painted in blood and broken boys as the Witchers of the past did, but passed through their family like the gift the knowledge was. Jaskier considered that a pretty fine trade.

Geralt didn't say anything at first, but wrapped his arms around Jaskier one last time. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, always,” Jaskier whispered back. He stepped back into the bedroom and finished getting dressed, locating clothing that wasn't covered in rain water or wrinkled to hell, had to make some sort of good impression on their guests.

Once he was dressed, their eyes met, a small smile pulling at Jaskier's lips. “Don't think I forgot. I'm holding you to that promise,” he said. “I will check over _every_ inch of you.”

Geralt smirked. “I can't wait.” Opening the bedroom door, he wrapped an arm lightly around Jaskier's hips. He was still wet and dirty, but he couldn't stop touching, and Jaskier wouldn't push him away for the world.

As soon as Jaskier and Geralt set foot in the library, Eskel and Lambert pounced, squishing the human between them. Jaskier's heart skipped a beat—safe, they were _safe_ —and he wanted nothing more than to drag them all back to their room and never let them leave his sight again. Though after many, many years of practice, his professionalism won out. “We have guests! And your pups are watching!”

“Watching and very happy about it,” Griffin said. “You think we liked seeing you worry about them all day? Doing our own worrying at the same time...”

Lambert, Eskel, and Geralt released him and went around to hug the boys again, lift the girls and swing them around, Ciri too, just like they old days. They made it back and the weight of a year of not knowing slid away in an instant.

They all came back to Jaskier's side again, staying close and introducing him to their guests. “Jaskier, this is Rhena and Tor,” Geralt said.

“Nice to meet you.”

Rhena smiled and climbed shakily to her feet, Tor right there with a supporting hand under her arm. She was dressed in Ciri's clothes and Jaskier couldn't help but notice the resemblance—same green eyes, same curve to her jaw and lips. “The Elder Blood, it seems, strikes again,” he said.

She shook her head, a small smile on her lips. “You have no idea. More trouble than it's worth, honestly. But I can assure you, the curse is truly broken. I'm sorry for sweeping you all up in my wake. I can explain more if you like.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps,” Jaskier said. “I think we all deserve tonight off. Have you eaten? We must get some food into you.”

Everyone sprang into action. All day lounging around, coiled like springs as they waited and waited, unable to help... in less than a minute, Dieter and Clay were in the kitchen, arguing over what could be ready soon. “She's been fucking asleep forever, it doesn't need to be five star, it just needs to be _good_ ,” Clay grumbled.

While they sorted that out, Geralt, Eskel and Lambert went to change out of their armor, and the rest of the family transformed the library into a make-shift dining area. By the time Clay and Dieter were done arguing and produced enough toasted cheese sandwiches to feed an army along with every snack in the house, everyone had a table or a patch of floor to eat on. Tor investigated every piece of food that was handed to him. “I've seen this,” Rhena said. “It's an ice cream bar. They always looked so delicious.” She plucked it from his fingers and took a bite, moaning around the chocolate sandwich cookies. “Oh, this was definitely worth the wait.”

“You saw it?” Griffin asked. No one really wanted to say it, but Rhena seemed somewhat at ease with the future. Ciri traveled to many different worlds in her first life (and no doubt she would again in this one) and got used to the strange things she found there, though Rhena appeared to have similar powers, she'd been locked between worlds for so long, not much time for traveling.

“Yes, that's another way I navigate, thoughts and dreams. I saw visions of this world as it grew and changed. Saw what happened to my people.” A frown curved her soft lips and she leaned into Tor's shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in close. Fourteen hundred years watching at her bedside, and here he was, continuing his duties... that level of devotion was a hell of a thing. Jaskier looked across their little circle to his own nearly immortal mates and smiled. Maybe he knew a thing or two about that sort of devotion.

“Are there still Aen Seidhe in this world?” she asked. “I saw... it didn't look good.”

“Isn't that the truth,” Lambert said. “But yeah, they still live, thrive in some places, now that humans have reigned it in. Mostly.” There was a collective grunt from half the room. Even with only two years on The Path, the boys had faced their fair share of towns and cities who didn't want to pay, Eskel had to make calls, gently threaten a few provincial governments, it was never fun. (Alright, maybe it was a little fun.)

“I suppose we should find some of them?” Tor said. “Try to... acclimate to the world?”

“I'll help you. We'll do it together, as we have all things.” Rhena brushed a kiss under his jaw and the stoic warrior smiled, just a little, but it was enough. She'd seen this modern world, she knew some of what they were about to face, the loyal guardian who sat at her side was unprepared... it seemed it was her turn to guide him, but they'd both need help. And Jaskier knew exactly where they should go.

“My family live in Dol Blathanna, we have Aen Seidhe blood, and my brother married into another clan. They can help you get settled.”

“Oh no, we don't want to impose... We can find our own way.”

Rhena tried to wave Jaskier's help away, but he leaned forward, holding her gaze. “My family owns a bed and breakfast, and a diner, they are used to helping strangers. You will be well taken care of. I'll call my mum in the morning, get it all squared away.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Even Tor nodded. “Yes, thank you. I feel getting to know the world through our kind will be... easier.”

“I'll make arrangements first thing.” Jaskier's eyes flicked towards the hall, where Strand and Ollie appeared with yet more food.

“Clay has the deep fryer going,” Ollie said. “Zucchini chips?”

Once they'd exhausted the first round of appetizers and snacks, a full meal started to appear. Pork with creamy mashed potatoes, apple chutney, and deep fried sage leaves on top to add crunch. Rhena and Tor ate with a gusto that rivaled a Witcher's appetite, and so did Jaskier. All day, he was just floating around, picking at whatever food was thrust in front of him, with the sword of Destiny removed from their collective necks, his appetite returned with a vengeance. They ate, and they talked, about everything and nothing at all, and for the first time in so long, the world felt right again. Jaskier had no idea if the curse was actually broken, and he wasn't about to take a knife to anyone to see if they'd scar. They just had to trust that freeing Rhena had done the trick. Jaskier had placed a lot of trust in Destiny before, one more time couldn't hurt...

As the food was eaten, more snacks pulled from cupboards, popcorn popped until even Rhena said she was full, Jaskier looked around the room and saw Griffin's head leaning against Ollie's shoulder, Dieter playing with Vivi's hair as she snored delicately against his shoulder. Ciri's eyes were drooping and Yennefer had lapsed into silence some time ago, sitting next to her daughter, eyes always watching.

“Bed, I think, it's been... a day. Someone gave you a room?” Jaskier asked.

“Oh yes.” As soon as Rhena climbed to her feet, Tor was there, helping her up. Ciri roused herself enough to show them up the stairs and the boys carted the girls off to bed, and now there was nothing else for Jaskier to do...

Well, there was _one_ thing.

Most of the pups were in bed, there was a grumbled, “I'll keep watch,” from someone who sounded like Strand, and the house was quiet, the peaceful kind of silence that came after a year of Destiny invading every moment.

Jaskier grabbed Lambert by a belt loop and Geralt by the shirtsleeve, throwing a look that said _you better bring Eskel_ , and hauled them towards the bedroom. The door closed and Jaskier threw—yes, _threw_ —Eskel and Geralt onto the bed, rounding on Lambert. His hands went to the collar of his shirt, going to pull it over his head when Jaskier growled, he'd spent most of his life with Wolves after all, he could growl with the best of them. “Leave it. That's for me to take care of.”

Chest already heaving, eyes wide and black, Lambert let his hands fall to his sides, giving himself over to Jaskier, nothing he hadn't done a hundred times. They were standing in the middle of the room, and Jaskier prowled around him, inspecting. Long, gentle fingers trailed down his arm, brushing the cuff at his wrist before tugging at his shirt. “Arms up. Going to look at all of you. Make sure you came back to me in one piece.”

Lambert lifted his arms and let Jaskier strip off his shirt. It was old and worn soft, it felt good against his skin after a day stuffed in armor with rain pooling in uncomfortable places. “I should clean up,” he whispered. Lips pressed against his shoulder, kissing along his back, beautiful plush lips he couldn't get enough of, and Lambert let out a low moan.

“No, I want you like this.” Jaskier was of a height with all his Witchers, he had to bend down to run his nose from the base of Lambert's spine all the way up to the top of his neck, blowing warm breaths along his skin. “You smell like you, sweaty, masculine, I could just eat you up.”

More smacking kisses followed, but Jaskier's hands were where his attention was truly focused. He brushed over Lambert's chest, down his stomach, feeling all the old scars he'd touched a thousand-thousand times. He knew them like the back of his hand, like the words of his own books, he'd be able to feel a new scratch or scrape, any injury Lambert suffered as they climbed that accursed hill Jaskier never, ever wanted to see again.

His chest was bare of any new roughness, any blood would've washed away with the quick rinse they had earlier, but there was nothing, no new injuries at all. Jaskier's hands dropped to the button of Lambert's jeans, popping it open. He smiled when he felt coarse hair meet his fingers, no briefs to speak of. “Expecting something later, were we?”

“I'll wear whatever you want, you know I will,” Lambert panted. He was standing so very still, but there was a small shiver running through him as he tried to hold himself back. The past few weeks, as they marched closer and closer to what they thought was a dangerous mission, Lambert pulled and grabbed at Jaskier, growling softly and biting, claiming his place on their bard. Jaskier allowed it, he didn't deny things very often, preferring to indulge his wolves, but now he wanted to do the touching, the holding.

He bit down on the slope of Lambert's shoulder as he pushed his jeans to the floor to pool at his feet. “Slip them off,” he whispered. Lambert did as told, now standing naked in front of them all.

Geralt and Eskel shifted on the bed and blue eyes snapped to them. “Don't you dare, I get to unwrap you too.” Soft hands ran over Lambert, but his words were firm and brooked no argument. Eskel and Geralt settled on the bed, their clothes still on... for the moment.

Jaskier stepped back and sighed at Lambert's whine. “Oh shh, I'll only be a moment.” He pulled off his own clothes with little reverence, throwing them into some corner to be picked up later. Wrapping his arms around Lambert's shoulders, he pressed his chest flush to Lambert's back, resting his chin on top of his shoulder. “I'm going to keep looking. I want to make sure every part of you is exactly as I left it this morning.”

Lambert's breath hitched. “Yes, please.”

Once again, Jaskier circled around him, a predator's grace in his walk. Lambert's resolve to stay still—be good for Jaskier—broke and he leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss. Jaskier was more than happy to return the kiss and parted his lips, letting a tongue sweep inside his mouth, tangling with his own. The small point of contact soothed Lambert's trembling form and Jaskier sunk down to his knees, hands bracketing slim hips built for quick turns and fancy footwork. His Witchers were built for battle, but there was still a beauty to it, an art to their bodies. Jaskier didn't know if he loved or hated what the mutations had done to them, but he took a moment to bury his face in the soft hair of Lambert's stomach and breathe him in. He found he didn't care about the mutations anymore, not as long as they were alive and with him... for the rest of their lives.

Coming back to himself, Jaskier tapped Lambert's thigh. “Lift.” Jaskier slid the thick thigh onto his shoulder, opening up Lambert's legs just enough to run his fingers over delicate skin. Not a mark, not a scratch, just as he left it that morning. He started kissing down Lambert's stomach, lips getting very, very close to his cock.

“Jaskier,” Lambert whined.

His fingers continued to explore. Down the backs of Lambert's legs, over his calves. All of it perfect, unmarked—save for the scars that were already there—and the last bit of tension inside his chest started to ease a little. Sitting back on his heels, Jaskier pressed a kiss to the leaking head of Lambert's cock before looking back at the bed. “Eskel, you next.”

Jaskier stayed on his knees this time and watched Eskel strip, leaning into Lambert, one arm wrapped around his hips to keep him close. When Eskel was standing there without a stitch on, he kissed Lambert's stomach before reaching for Eskel. He traced the same patterns with his hands, over his stomach, around his back, down his thighs, all of it perfect. He licked a stripe up the inside of Eskel's thighs then up his cock before beckoning for Geralt, completing the same inspection. And they were perfect, whole and beautiful, not a scratch on them. Jaskier sighed and the last bit of his anxiety from this whole mess finally floated away.

Three titans of Witcher standing around him, all of them hard and leaking, Geralt with his fingers tangled with Eskel's as he licked up the side of Lambert's face, well, what else was Jaskier to do in such a position?

One hand on Lambert and Geralt's cocks, Jaskier started on Eskel, licking up one side of his cock and down the other. It was a little difficult, without an extra hand to hold, it moved away from him and he almost started to pout, but Eskel wrapped his own hand around the base, holding it steady for Jaskier like an offering. He didn't stroke or tease himself, just let Jaskier do as he would, licking and kissing his shaft, down his sac, everywhere he could reach.

When Eskel's cock was thoroughly tasted, Jaskier leaned over and took Geralt's head into his mouth, rolling it over his tongue like a sweet. Someone took over stroking Eskel's cock, he wasn't sure who, Jaskier was simply focused on giving each one the proper attention—sucking Geralt's head until he moaned, licking Lambert's balls, nuzzling the crease of Eskel's hip, repeat—his hands fluttered around too, trying to occupy the Witcher he wasn't servicing with his mouth, and soon enough, Jaskier didn't know who's cock was in his mouth or his hand, he simply wanted to touch them all.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled. “Are you—can we finish?” Geralt and Eskel didn't play with him like Lambert did, but it had been a long night, day, _year_. They'd follow his lead, give him what he needed to feel they were finally safe again.

Eskel's cock slipped out of his mouth with an almost comical popping noise, but they were all too close, _teetering_ on the edge, for it to distract them. Throwing his head back, Jaskier exposed the long line of his throat. “Yes. On me, please. Remind me I'm yours.”

Three low growls reverberated around him as they fumbled for their cocks. “Fuck, Jaskier—” Eskel managed to groan out before he came, thick ropes of white landing across his neck, dripping down into thick chest hair.

“Oh, oh fuck,” Geralt cried out next, his contribution spilling across Jaskier's shoulder.

Behind him, Lambert shook. “Jaskier, can I—”

“Yes, my wolf, give it to me.” There was a groan, then a sigh of completion and something hot, wet and wonderful dripped between Jaskier's shoulder blades. He closed his eyes and heard them take a collective breath. He smelled like them, they smelled like his mates, and now they'd never have to be apart again, no curse or spell or fucking nightmares would ever part them again.

They lifted him from the floor, licking away the come now covering him, growling and nibbling possessively as they went. Jaskier went limp in their arms and let them do as they please, he got what he wanted, he looked them over, made sure they were whole, no longer touched or changed by the curse that held them for so long. Sure, he had no magical ability to see if the curse was lifted, but his hands roving over them, feeling them as real and solid as ever, it was his own way of knowing they were safe now.

There were so many things to do. Rhena and Tor had to get used to this new world, no matter how much she'd seen of it, there'd be shocks around every corner; the kitchen was picked clean, they had to go shopping, and the pups wouldn't want to train tomorrow, too enamored with their guests; Yennefer might take her leave, bringing Ciri along with her, which was another set of problems... It could all wait though. Tomorrow morning, Jaskier would take up his role as a responsible adult, but tonight, he laid back and let his wolves devour him.

There was a mouth around his cock, a hand in his hair, another one at his nipples. He let them feel and touch, the same way he'd done to them. After he was spent and shaking, Geralt licking away the sweat trickling down his neck, they slept deep, no more nightmares flickering behind Jaskier's eyes. They had the rest of their lives to be boring teachers in, admittedly, a fairly interesting school by day, lovers curled together at night, and honestly, it was as good of an ending as they'd ever get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my husband for suggesting all the food in this chapter. He doesn't understand my fanfiction, but he's very supportive and will tell me how to describe delicious meals for them to eat.


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had a long road ahead of them, two hundred years if they played their cards right, time to raise enough Witchers to pass the knowledge on for another two hundred after that, and another two hundred... But they didn't have forever. Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert never wanted forever, they just wanted Jaskier, and now they had him, and their family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who enjoyed and stuck with this story, even as I took a break and got distracted by one shots. This is the first fic I've done with a giant plot and a timeline, and I don't think I have another one in me, but I'm very proud of this story. Thank you for reading, please enjoy this short epilogue <3

With the three—count them _three_ —phone lines Eskel had installed at Corvo Bianco, there was always a phone ringing somewhere. Towns and governments were asking for Witchers left right and center, calling Eskel at all hours of the day and night to get him to send someone.

“Yes I know you have ghouls in your cemetery, Lyira has harpies and they bother the living. You'll have a pack there in three days, it's the best I can do.” Eskel slammed the phone down and sighed, turning back to their newest class, three boys, three girls, all of them damaged and broken and pushing any kindness away while also grabbing for it with both hands. He'd just started softening them up and he didn't need any distractions. “Sorry about that, summer is a busy season for those already on The Path. Where were we?”

“Meditation,” Lilian, a skinny girl with a hurricane behind her eyes, said. It had only been a few months, they trusted the roof over their head and the food in their bellies, but not much else. Give it time, Eskel and Jaskier would wear them down soon enough, Lambert and Geralt there to form their bodies into strong tools to help them through life. “You were saying how reducing distractions was a good way to start.”

Eskel frowned. “Yeah... again, sorry about that. Let's go outside. The phone can ring for all I care, you're more important.”

He did not miss the small smiles that flashed across still too thin faces (big meals every night took a while to work, especially with all the exercise they were getting, they just had to keep at it) the children the world of men sent to be Witchers seldom heard words of love or affection, they were important to no one. Well, now they were important to the School of the Wolf. Yes, they were _Kaer Morhen South – School for Witchers_ on paper, on all their legal documents, but the heart of a wolf beat in every boy or girl that trained in their courtyard or called Corvo Bianco home, and these six were wolves now too.

Jaskier walked down from the music room just as the whole troop followed Eskel out into the courtyard, his own phone pressed to his ear. “Yes, Essi dear, the boys got the concert tickets, thank you so much. It's good of you to treat them when they're in Oxenfurt.”

Essi's melodious voice chirped through the speaker and Jaskier stopped cold. “Six tickets? Why would they need six?” He turned into the library where Griffin was behind the big teacher desk, his broken leg propped up on a stool next to him. The new set of pups showed no mercy when offered markers and the blank canvas of the cast, it was covered with rude words, a few deranged smiley faces, but also flowers and bubbles; the new set of kids was just as damaged as any they'd had before, but there was always goodness there, and a desire to be part of a family. Despite Griffin's anger at breaking his leg right at the beginning of the season, it was good to have him home, to show the new pups what life as a Witcher could be like, it was difficult, but you always had your pack with you, and Jaskier, Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert just a phone call or a portal away.

Ciri took Griffin's place while he recovered, joining Ollie and Zander until Griff was better. Fully trained herself, Ciri split her time between Corvo Bianco, The Path, and Yennefer, wherever she was resting her head these days. Her powers had returned in full force and without the specter of the Wild Hunt hanging over her head, she was free to travel to as many worlds as she pleased, and Yennefer was doing a fine job of turning her into one hell of a mage. But Ciri was also one hell of a Witcher, and joining Ollie and Zander was no trouble for her. She enjoyed the adventure of it, just as she did in her first life.

Still, that meant three Witchers—not six—in Oxenfurt. Unless Clay, Dieter, and Strand took a detour... they were supposed to be on the other side of the mountains, no where near Oxenfurt... “Did they tell you why they needed six tickets? Again, thank you for providing, but...” Jaskier sat on the edge of the desk next to Griffin, who was going over some of the mail, messages from Jaskier's publisher asking for a book tour, the usual.

As Jaskier listened to Essi explain, Griffin got more and more interested in the papers in front of him, his face almost as red as his hair. Jaskier did not miss this fact. “I see, a few of your students are going with them? Three young ladies... yes, oh yes, I have first hand knowledge how exciting it is to court a Witcher.” Jaskier was now staring directly at Griffin, who was still not looking at him. Three students from Oxenfurt, from one of Essi's classes, who were ready to meet up with three Witchers and go to a concert with them.

“Essi, I'll call you back, and you can tell me all about these young ladies. Goodbye, dear.” Jaskier ended the call and reached across the mail Griffin was staring at, placing the phone on top of the pile. “Do you want to call Ollie and Zander and tell them they need to bring their girlfriends home for introductions, or should I?”

Griffin swallowed. “I can call them.”

“Good. What about the third young lady? Is she...”

“No,” Griffin said, a little too quickly. The blush now extended all the way around the back of his neck. “They probably found a friend to go along with Ciri.”

When he didn't continue, Jaskier recognized the need to prod a little more. “Is there anyone you're interested in at Oxenfurt?”

Griffin bit his lip, then nodded. “There's a boy—a guy. His name is Sven, he's from Skellige. We were supposed to hang out in Beauclair when my leg was better.” And Griffin was getting the cast off in two weeks...

Jaskier pat Griffin on the shoulder and stood up, his hovering had accomplished what he needed it to, he could let the poor boy—no, a man now—be. “And now I think you should invite him up for dinner. I'll leave you to make your calls.” Jaskier spotted a few pieces of Eskel's mail on the desk and swept it up, the provincial seals stressing their urgency. He rubbed the back of Griffin's shoulders before walking out of the library, through the front doors and into the bright sunlight.

Their boys, Jaskier's first pups, they were... well fuck, they weren't boys anymore, were they? They were reaching the age when most men started getting married, having families. What was that life like for a Witcher? Jaskier couldn't imagine grandchildren running around in ten years time, but they couldn't stop the boys—or the girls soon enough, pack of feral wolves that they were—from having those needs, the want to strike out on their own, build a family.

Jaskier cast his eyes around the courtyard where Eskel sat in a circle with the newest class. Usually for meditation lessons, he took them out near the mill pond so they could listen to the calming sounds of nature around them, let their minds relax, but the courtyard was bright today, with a cooling breeze ruffling their hair. The soft grunts of Lambert and Geralt sparring at the other side of the training area was a noise they had to get used to as well. Baby steps, first get them used to their new home, the rest would follow.

Though they were supposed to have their eyes closed in meditation, Jaskier saw Marta open one eye and quickly shuffle closer to Davy. They were from the same orphanage before they arrived at Corvo Bianco, staying close to each other those first days. Now they continued training and learning together, growing and getting better in tandem, the first bond to the new pack. Leaning their heads together, they closed their eyes and continued with Eskel's meditation lesson, faces smoother, calmer than they were before.

Jaskier smiled. Well, if Ollie, Zander, and Griffin were ready for families of their own (or at least dating, finding someone who loved them, scars and all) Geralt would have an excuse to add a third floor to the house. They already knew how to manage a family pieced together from broken shards the world left behind, no reason they couldn't continue doing it.

His family in the north—his mother and father, his siblings—were also good at piecing things together. Jaskier just had a call from Rhena the other day, she and Tor were doing well these last few years. There was a learning curve, of course, and they mostly stayed in the nature preserve with the other, more old fashioned Aen Seidhe clans. But now they truly wanted to be part of the world and Rodger de Stael believe anyone who wanted to learn a trade could do so; he took Tor under his wing like he did both of his sons (though Jasper was more receptive to car lessons than Jaskier ever was) and now Tor was the town handyman, taking over for Rodger where he could. Rhena worked for the nature preserve, their liaison between the Aen Seidhe who still made their home in those trees, it felt like a step down for the Light of Many Worlds, but she enjoyed the quiet of helping her people in small ways rather than cosmic ones. It seemed Rhena and Tor were much more suited to this world than they were to the old one. Whenever Rhena felt the old itch of inter-dimensional travel, Ciri popped by—literally—and they went gallivanting somewhere strange and new. It wasn't a bad life for any of them.

Jaskier stayed to watch the rest of the meditation lesson. There wasn't much to it, but he enjoyed watching Eskel at peace, his face soft, breath slow. When he finally opened his eyes and brought the kids back to attention, Eskel nodded. “Very good, not much fidgeting this time around. Tomorrow, we'll walk through the back fields and feel the grass as we let out minds clear. Now get inside, time to make lunch.”

Six children scrambled to their feet and ran towards the promise of food, Lambert and Geralt on their heels. They still had to make it (or Eskel and Lambert had to guide them through making it) but the promise of food was always popular in this house.

Eskel counted the children as they ran inside, making sure there weren't any stragglers, before leaning over to brush his lips against Jaskier's cheek. “Good class today. They're calming quicker.”

“Good to hear. Have some official mail for you.” He handed over the envelopes.

Eskel rolled his eyes and ripped one open. “Fucking Rivia, what do they want now? You heard what they did to the girls, right? Refused to pay. Why I stopped Ollie and Dieter from driving down there to give them a piece of their mind, I'll never know.”

“Because you know if you let them do it, the next time it happened Vivi and Tessa would rip out some poor mayor's throat.”

Make no mistake, all the wolves of Corvo Bianco were dangerous, but the she wolves? Fuck, Jaskier had seen Alvia rip a drowner's throat open with her teeth, Lambert shouting “That's my girl!” loudly from shore. There was a very good reason Jaskier no longer went on pack camping trips.

Eskel grunted. “Yeah, you're probably right.” He unfolded the letter with a sigh and went to read it. His lips turned down into a frown.

“Bad news?” Jaskier asked.

He didn't answer at first, turning towards the sun so he had better light to read by. “No, it's...” He turned again, trying to get yet more light. Finally, Eskel brought the letter closer to his face and squinted. “Did they make the words fucking microscopic on this?”

A thrill shot through Jaskier, his mouth dropping open and snapping shut with a little click. “Oh my... Eskel, are you having trouble reading?”

“No...” Eskel squinted some more. “Yes. I don't know.” His nostrils flared, sniffing the air. “Why does my sudden inability to read have you so excited?”

The pups were in the house, Lambert and Geralt with them to try and contain the chaos, so they were alone in the courtyard... Jaskier moved in close, wrapping his arms around Eskel's shoulders. “I'm excited, because as people age, their eyes get weak. They have trouble reading and need glasses. You've been squinting a lot more, haven't you?”

Jaskier was damn near trembling with excitement. Over a decade since they lifted Rhena's curse, and they still hadn't seen a change. Geralt, Lambert, and Eskel were no longer frozen in time, their aging continuing as normal again, but the thing was, Witchers already aged slowly, so there was no way to confirm. No new wrinkles, no twinging backs when the weather shifted, no outward signs they could measure by. But Jaskier saw the little things: Eskel's squinting eyes when he read, a white hair on Lambert's chest he swore was new, deeper crows' feet around Geralt's eyes... His own gray hair had started a few years ago, a strand or two, nothing noticeable, and now they others were aging as well, slowly but surely, they were, they were—

A wide smile broke across Eskel's face and he pulled Jaskier close, letter in his hands completely forgotten. “So, this is what old age feels like?”

“Ah! Excuse me, I am not _old_ ,” Jaskier squawked, hitting Eskel lightly on the shoulder. “I am middle aged, thank you very much, and not even that, mum thinks I'll top out at about two-fifty, so I have some time yet.”

“Well, I've been middle aged for seven hundred fucking years. I think I'm ready to be old.” Eskel looped an arm around Jaskier's hips, pulling him in for a kiss on the cheek. “C'mon, lets see what Geralt and Lambert think.”

They walked into the house arm in arm, ready to assist with the chaos in the kitchen. They had a long road ahead of them, two hundred years if they played their cards right, time to raise enough Witchers to pass the knowledge on for another two hundred after that, and another two hundred... But they didn't have forever. Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert never wanted forever, they just wanted Jaskier, and now they had him, and their family. As far as they were concerned, that was more than alright with them.

The End


End file.
